The Shrew War, Book V: The Red Tower
by Highwing
Summary: The true shape of Foxguard emerges ... as does an old enemy.
1. Chapter 62

Chapter Sixty-Two

Even as Salamandastron prepared for a wedding, Redwall was just putting its latest one behind it.

Colonel Clewiston's private quarters were already some of the largest in the Long Patrol warren, so Melanie simply moved in with him, the two newlyweds declining Vanessa's offer of a private dorm room up in the Abbey itself. The Abbey's carpenters, knowing of the marriage well in advance, secretly wrought a king-sized double bed as Redwall's wedding gift to the two hares. With the help of the other Long Patrols, the bed was snuck down to the Colonel's room while Sister Orellana distracted him and Melanie with fabricated, last-moment adjustments to their matrimonial finery. The expressions of surprise on their faces when they went to turn in after the festivities were worth all the work and planning that had gone into the conspiracy. Unfortunately, only Clewiston's and Melanie's fellow hares could be on paw to enjoy the unveiling, otherwise the bride and groom would have suspected something was afoot. As it was, the Colonel grew suspicious when so many of his comrades insisted upon seeing him and his new wife right to the door of their honeymoon sanctuary.

The day-long wedding celebration was the first experience of an all-out, no-holds-barred Redwall feast for the orphans Metellus and Budsock. The young badger and squirrel's eyes stayed wide that entire day as one delectable culinary treat after another was brought out from the kitchens in a nonstop cavalcade of edible riches. The wedding was held out on the lawns, naturally, since not even Great Hall could have contained the degree of revelry seen that day. Fortunately, the mild spring weather cooperated fully, providing abundant sunshine under a dome of perfect blue sky, with only the faintest of breezes to ripple the fur and quiver the whiskers.

In memory of Sister Aurelia, no drink more potent than the mildest of October ale was served. And with no pushy shrews around to insist otherwise, everybeast was quite happy with these beverage arrangements.

With the marriage feast behind them, the Redwallers turned their attention to other matters. On the second morning after the wedding, Grayfoot and his entourage of mole and otter helpers set out along the south path, bearing with them a full complement of woodworking and masonry tools. The retired ferret captain clutched in his paw the plans Urthblood had drawn up for him, and if all went well, Grayfoot's Inn would soon be open for travellers upon the spot where St. Ninian's had once stood.

Judelka and her son remained behind at Redwall, where they would enjoy the Abbey's hospitality until the tavern's private quarters were ready for habitation. Both Grayfoot and his former hosts were amenable to this, knowing that mother and babe would benefit most from the continued support and nurturing to be found within this community of woodlanders. The ferret officer felt secure that he had left his wife with creatures who would look after her, and also felt fulfilled that he had at last given his son a name before leaving ...

00000000000

"Well, I think it'sa silly name!"

During his short time at Redwall so far, young Budsock had proven he had no trouble saying what was on his mind. Except, of course, when he and Droge were planning some of their devilish mischief. Then, he could be as tight-lipped as the very stones of the Abbey itself.

Now the incorrigible squirrel and hedgehog duo trailed along the east walltop after Granholm as he performed his afternoon sentry duty. The former slave was happy to stand a lookout rotation for his new home - it was, after all, one of the more pleasant and less strenuous ways a beast could earn its keep at Redwall - and happy to have the company of the two youngsters. Not only did he find their lively banter constantly amusing, but as long as those rascals were up here in plain sight, it would keep them from causing trouble elsewhere.

"Why do you say that, Bud?" the older squirrel asked. "I think it's a perfectly fine name."

"Percival?" Budsock burst out. "What kinda name's that for a ferret?"

"Well, how many ferrets have you ever known, you young snip?" Granholm shot back with a grin, toussling the fur between Budsock's ears.

"'nuff t' know Percival's a stupid name for one! I mean, I can see a mouse named Percival, or even a hedgehog named Percival, but a ferret? That's like ... like ... "

"A mole named Bloodfang!" Droge helpfully supplied.

"Yeah, that!" Budsock agreed.

Droge playfully nudged his pal in the side. "I'm gonna call m'self Percival fromma now on!"

"Okay ... Percy!" Budsock giggled, and soon both youngbeasts were falling about themselves with laughter.

Granholm left them to their merriment. They both knew full well that Grayfoot had settled upon that name because it sounded like "peace" - at least to the ferret's ear, since the retired captain's Northlands accent made that word sound a little like "pearce" when he said it. Grayfoot had explained to the Abbey leaders that he'd spent his entire adult life as a soldier, and knew fully the horrors of war, even when he was on the winning side. This was something he wanted to spare his son; he wished for Percival to be as successful in peace as Grayfoot had been in war, and to bear a name which would embody that ideal.

"Hey," Budsock said, changing the subject once his laughter had subsided, "why do Browder 'n' Mizzy sleep up on th' top floor when alla other hares sleep in th' tunnels?"

"Her proper name's Mizagelle," Granholm corrected. "Have the proper respect for your elders, Budsock."

"Oh, okay ... Granny!"

Granholm mock-swatted at the younger squirrel, but it was impossible not to smile at the child's innocent roguishness.

"So, why _do_ they live apart from the other hares?" Budsock pressed.

"It's ... a long story," Granholm sighed as he leaned his elbows on the battlements and gazed out over the sun-tipped fastness of east Mossflower. "It goes back to last summer, when you would've been just a paw-sucking babe yourself. There was a war between two badgers. Browder was on the side of one, and the Long Patrol was on the side of the other."

"Which side won?"

Granholm grimaced. "Neither, some beasts would say. But the one who commanded the Long Patrols was slain, which is why they all came to live here after the war."

"Kinda like me comin' t' live here after my parents were slain?" Budsock asked.

"Um, not really, but ... yeah, come to think of it, I guess it must've been kinda like that for them. Redwall is a home for goodbeasts who don't have any home of their own, and I guess it doesn't matter whether you're a lone squirrel lad, a band of freed slaves or a regiment of fighting hares. This Abbey's gates are open to all ... and thank the seasons for that!"

"So, if Browder an' th' Long Patrols're enemies, why'd he get married to one of 'em?"

"Sometimes these things just happen, I guess ... hey, wait a minute! What's that?"

The two youngsters followed the direction of Granholm's gaze, almost due east of where they stood. "What's what?"

"I ... I think I see something. Just above the treetops ... but I can't tell for sure ... "

"Well, what _is_ it?" Droge demanded impatiently.

"If I knew that, I'd say so, wouldn't I?"

Budsock casually hopped up onto the battlement stone and sat there, letting his footpaws dangle without a care over the considerable drop of the outer wall. "I don't see nuthin'."

"It's 'anything,' not 'nuthin,'" Granholm said as he hoisted Budsock back down to the rampart walkway. "And don't fool around up here. It's not safe."

"Aw, I'm a squirrel! Squirrels never fall!"

"With my luck, you'd be the first. I'm the one who's got walltop duty today, an' what I say goes. Now, no more horseplay like that, or - "

Granholm was cut off by the sound of the Matthias and Methuselah bells tolling out to call everybeast to table for the evening meal. Budsock and Droge were off like a shot without so much as a by-your-leave addressed to the elder squirrel, racing each other toward the wall stairs like a mismatched pair of red-furred and spiked speed demons.

Granholm threw his sharp gaze eastward again. The late afternoon sun lit up the green treetops of Mossflower in a blaze of jade and emerald, making it hard to discern any details in the shimmering distance. As he stared, eyes alternately wide and squinted, he sometimes thought he could and sometimes honestly couldn't tell whether there really was something to be seen out there on the forest horizon. If not a mirage, then it was about level with the treetops (which didn't make establishing its reality any easier) and seemed to be staying in one place.

At length Granholm shrugged it off and returned his attention to the nearer reaches of Mossflower. His main responsibility was to keep watch for any creatures, friend or foe, who approached the Abbey, not to dwell upon distant phantoms which flickered on the edge of existence. Besides, if he could not even tell with his keen squirrel vision whether there was anything there, then surely nobeast else at Redwall would have any better luck scoping it out. If it was anything at all, they'd find out about it in good time.

00000000000

Cyrus and Maura released the bellropes after tolling the dinner signal. "See?" the young mouse beamed at Metellus, who stood back a ways from them in the bell tower, paws only just coming down from his ears. "That's how you do it!"

"I see. But, don't you ever worry about going deaf?"

Cyrus cocked an exaggerated ear toward the badger orphan, affecting an oldbeast's tone. "Eh? What's that y' say?" The two youngsters shared a healthy laugh at this.

Maura smiled. It did her heart good to see Metellus in high spirits. He had been so somber and taciturn upon his arrival at the Abbey, but the cheerfulness of all the other Abbeybeasts - especially the children - gradually helped pull him out of his shell. And the wedding feast seemed to have done the final trick; ever since, Metellus had been acting as a full-fledged Redwaller, the shadows of his recent tragic past no longer a darkness upon his waking hours. As to his dreams, he was still often to be heard whimpering and uttering stifled cries in his sleep. That would take a little longer, but Maura was confident that in time the young badger's wounded spirit would be completely healed by the greater spirit of Redwall.

Chances were that Metellus harbored no genuine interest in learning how to work the bellropes at all, and was only here because of Maura. Of all the creatures currently living at the Abbey, only Budsock could rival the badger matriarch for the attention and companionship of Metellus. But now that that squirrel had fastened onto Droge - who was closer to his own age - as his favored playmate, that left Maura as the badgerchild's preferred companion. With Cyril away looking after Broggen, Maura was once again helping Cyrus with the bellringing duties, as she'd helped Cyril the previous summer when Cyrus was assisting Brother Geoff down in the archives, and then later when the younger sibling was recovering from his near-fatal injuries. Metellus, wanting to stick by her side, had followed her to the bell tower, where he was treated to an upclose and personal - and very loud - show by Maura and Cyrus.

"Seriously," the bellringer mouse said to Metellus, "do you think you might wanna make this your permanent duty at Redwall? 'Cos me 'n' Cyril are nearly adults now ... "

"Can't grown-up beasts be bellringers too?" Metellus asked.

Cyrus scratched his whiskers. "Well ... yeah, I guess so. It's just that me 'n' Cyril have been the bellringers almost from the time we were first left at Redwall by our parents. An' we were taught by the otters Brydon and Rumter, who were the bellringers when they were children." Cyrus turned to the older badger. "You've lived at Redwall a long time, Mother Maura. Are the bellringers always youngbeasts?"

"They have been for as long as I can remember. But that doesn't mean there are any rules against adults holding that post. Brother Geoff would know for sure. Remember, though, that tolling the Matthias and Methuselah bells is not only a position of great honor, but also a job that many creatures would prefer over other Abbey chores. And not everybeast is cut out for the task; it takes not only a sure pair of paws but also a good ear and sense of rhythm. I think youngbeasts are drawn to bellringing because they'd rather do that than kitchen or garden duty. And when one proves itself capable at the task, they can never go back to more mundane chores."

Cyrus was quick to agree. "I know I'd much rather ring these bells than muck around with dirty pots an' pans, or get my paws all muddy digging in the gardens!"

"I like gardening," said Metellus. "It's nice and quiet ... "

Cyrus snickered. "You've never tried gardening at Redwall, with all the moles jabbering to themselves and each other up and down the crop rows!"

"Can't be as noisy as the kitchens," Metellus countered. "I never knew there could be such a racket anywhere in the world!"

"At least it's a happy racket," said Maura. "And from that confusion comes all the wonderful meals you've been enjoying since you arrived here. With Friar Hugh overseeing things down there, you can always depend on Redwall's kitchens to produce delicious fare out of all that chaos!"

"There's so much going on at this Abbey all the time, it's hard to find any quiet spots at all, I imagine ... "

"Oh, I've seen you sniff out a few," Maura said to Metellus. "Up on the walltop, or around the far side of the pond, or sharing an afternoon nap with old Arlyn down in his gatehouse cottage. I'll admit, it is more crowded around here than usual, what with all the new arrivals we've had recently. Then again, if you'd been here when the Guosim were staying with us, then you'd know what crowded really is!" She studied the younger badger. "If you really want a nice quiet job, I can talk to Geoff about having you help him down in the archives. He's been trying to get that place in order for seasons now, and I honestly don't know whether he's any closer to that goal now than when he started. It doesn't get much quieter than that anywhere in Redwall, and I'm sure Geoff will welcome a strong pair of paws to help him get organized."

"Will you be down there a lot, Mother Maura?"

"Me?" She laughed. "My job's looking after the little ones, as you well know, and that doesn't bring me down to the tunnels much ... "

"Then I don't wanna work down there." Metellus reached out and took a bunched-up fistful of Maura's smock in his paw, refusing to relinquish it. "I wanna be where you'll be ... "

Cyrus rolled his eyes. Metellus already stood as tall and broad as most adult mice, so it was easy to forget sometimes that he was far more a child than Cyrus was. Badgers lived up to four times as long as most other woodland species, with extended childhoods to match. The bellringer mouse realized he might well have gray in his fur by the time Metellus became a full adult. Still, to see a creature bigger than he was, clinging to Maura's apronstrings like a lost babe ...

"Let's go have dinner," Cyrus suggested, "before those hares eat it all!"

00000000000

Cyrus needn't have worried; Friar Hugh made more than enough for everybeast, so there was plenty of mushroom and onion cheese fondue, fresh acorn bread, dandelion salad and thick vegetable stew with dumplings to go around. Hugh had gotten into the habit of turning out oversized portions of his dishes ever since the Long Patrol had come to live at Redwall the autumn before, and was forced to kick that routine up to the next level when the Guosim shrews had added their numbers to the Abbey population for the winter. Those warm-weather wanderers were gone now, but it still required an all-out effort from the Friar and his kitchen staff each and every day to provide the required three meals plus snacks and desserts for all the hungry creatures currently living at Redwall.

Tonight, since the Sparra had spotted possible storm clouds on the horizon, dinner was held in Great Hall. Everybeast checked their chairs and benches before seating themselves, and even checked under the tables where they would be putting their footpaws, making sure Droge and Budsock had not left any surprises for them. Such diligence had become common practice ever since that squirrel and hedgehog had hooked up, and anybeast who grew lax ran the risk of ending up like Elmwood, with his bush stuck to the honey those two rogues had spread on a trestle to snare an unsuspecting posterior, or Sister Orellana or Brother Geoff, whose feet had found, respectively, a large pan of molasses and a pile of moldering mulch left under their places. Droge and Budsock had quickly realized that mealtimes provided the best opportunity for their prankishness, since nearly every Redwaller was present for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Even some of the Long Patrols had been caught up in this barrage of practical jokes, and in spite of the punishments imposed on the scheming pair by Vanessa and Maura, it looked as if this torrent of pranks would not be abating anytime soon.

On this night, however, it turned out that the adults of Redwall had nothing to fear. Budsock, in his haste to race Droge down the wall stairs on their headlong rush to the dinner tables, had twisted his ankle and taken a fall on the bottom step. He now sat with Droge and Metellus, nursing a sore nose, bruises and scrapes on paws and elbows, and a foot that ruined his usually-unflappable appetite with twinges of pain shooting up his shin. For reasons of his own, he suffered in silence rather than advertise his ailments.

Maura did not immediately pick up on the squirrelchild's distress, being mostly concerned with getting the troublesome duo settled in without incident. Seeing that Metellus had apparently exerted his usual calming influence upon Budsock (and not suspecting the real reason for his mellow demeanor), the badger mother took her leave of the table of little ones and ambled over to the head table as unobtrusively as she could.

Vanessa, Arlyn and Geoff sat together enjoying the flavorful repast. All three looked up at Maura's approach. "Can I have a moment, Abbess?"

"Certainly, Maura. What is it?"

"I was speaking with Metellus a little more today about what he wants to do at Redwall, and I must say I'm stymied! He seems to desire peace and quiet, and yet he doesn't want to do anything that takes him from my side. And as you know, keeping tabs on all these lovely little terrors is hardly the most calming and relaxing of existences ... "

Vanessa laid a paw on Maura's arm. "Don't fret yourself over this. He's still a child, and will be for some seasons yet. There's no hurry. Metellus has plenty of time to find his place among us. For now, let him live one day at a time, and enjoy the new friends he's made here."

"Yes, but he's big enough and strong enough to start helping out around here. More to the point, I think he wants to, now that he's had a chance to see for himself how Redwall works. I don't want to discourage him if he feels he's ready to lend a paw with Abbey chores. It's just a matter of finding out what suits him best. And quite frankly, the pieces just don't fit!"

"Well, hasn't he been a great help to you in controlling Budsock?" Arlyn asked. "It seems to me that would more than earn him his keep right there!"

"Controlling him?" Geoff snorted to Vanessa. "He wouldn't say that if he was the one who'd stuck his footpaws into a heap of gardening compost! Took me three days to get all the dirt out from under my toeclaws, and my sandals still reek of leaf mold! If that's keeping that disrespectful little bushtail in line, I'd hate to see him when he's out of control!"

Maura heard but chose to ignore Geoff. "That's all very well and good, Arlyn, except that there's no such post as Assistant Redwall Mother!"

"Maybe there should be," Geoff muttered, unconsciously rubbing his sandal soles together under the table.

"Yes ... maybe there should be." Vanessa looked up at Maura. "Even with Cyril and Cyrus nearly grown, we still have more children living at the Abbey now than at any other time in memory ... or at least we will, once all those expecting harewives start giving birth. Perhaps an assistant will be just what you'll need, Maura."

"A male badgerchild, looking after the other children?" Maura mulled this over. "That's not a position you'd expect such a creature to take ... "

"Well, it wouldn't be his adult occupation," said Vanessa, "but he won't be an adult anyway for some seasons to come. If he's already proven he can have a calming effect on our most rambunctious youngsters, and it's something he is in fact already doing without complaint, and it will allow him to remain close to you, why not make it official? I can simply declare that to be his responsibility from now on, and that should ease any qualms he might have about feeling like he's freeloading off our hospitality. Don't you agree that this would be the best solution?"

"Yes ... yes, I imagine it would." Maura nodded slowly. "If the arrangement carries your authority as Abbess with it, I'm sure he'll accept it without question. Thank you, Vanessa."

As the big badger shuffled away toward the children's table, Geoff remarked, "I'd have thought she'd be overjoyed by the prospect of having Metellus by her side all the time. She looked like she accepted your decision almost grudgingly, Vanessa."

"I suspect she's a lot happier than she's letting on," the Abbess replied with a knowing smile. "She just doesn't want to be too obvious about how attached she's become to him. Has to keep up appearances as the dignified badgermum, you know!"

"Whatever it takes to help that orphan badger adjust to becoming a Redwaller, we should support it," added Arlyn. "We must always do what is best for our young ones."

"And if it also happens to be what's best for the matriarch who looks after them," Vanessa said, "all the better."

"I'm sure Metellus will be fine," said Geoff. "Right now it's Cyrus I'm more worried about. This is the first time in his young life that he's been separated from Cyril for any length of time. And it's not like Cyril's away on some picnic outing - he's taken on quite a responsibility in volunteering to look after so troubled a beast as Broggen, and we know from Deltus that they've already had at least one spot of bother with those slaver foxes. Quite frankly, I think he may have very good reason to be worried about Cyril, since I share some of those concerns myself. But that's not my brother and only blood relative out there. I've seen it when Cyrus has been helping me and Winokur with our classes, in some of his quieter moments. He's not saying much about it, but I can tell it's on his mind constantly."

"I can well understand his trepidations," Vanessa nodded, "but I don't see what's to be done about it. Cyril was adamant about going with Broggen, and I agreed to allow him to do so. I suppose we could have had some of our Sparra flying out to keep an eye on them, but it's too late for that now since Cyril and Broggen could be anywhere in south Mossflower by this time, and the tree cover would hide them from the air. Perhaps I was remiss in not thinking of this earlier, but the plain fact is that those two are on their own now, and the best we can do for them is send them our heartfelt prayers and all the good will that we may."

"That's fine for us," Geoff sighed, "but somehow I think Cyrus will be looking for something more than that ... "


	2. Chapter 63

Chapter Sixty-Three

The bellringer mouse in question was at that very moment sitting with Winokur at the children's table, trying with limited success to teach Geoff's three Sparra students some table manners.

Brybag, Skytop and Harpreet were fledgling sparrows, their mature plumage only just starting to poke through their fuzzy coats of chick's down. They sat on the bench between the mouse and otter, raised up on cushions so they could reach the plates set before them. Right now the ravenous trio were putting away honeyed chestnuts and sesame seed plum muffins at a rate that kept their keepers' eyes round with amazement.

"Hares with wings, they are!" Winokur declared. "Whoa, slow down, me downy hearties! Don't wanna go gettin' them seeds 'n' nuts stuck in yore craws, now do ye?"

"Wink!" Cyrus chastised him over the birds' heads for slipping into the nautical, freewheeling otter jargon. "We're supposed to be teaching these Sparra the correct way to speak! Now cut that out!"

"Aw, Skipper Montybank talked like this ter Highwing all th' time when that sparrow was a chick, an' lookit how well that featherbag turned out!"

"Then let Montybank talk to these birds like that! You and I are Brother Geoff's assistants. We have to set an example!"

Brybag stabbed at his empty tin plate with his beak. "Morra!"

Cyrus looked down his snout at the raucous sparrow. "Now, that's no way to ask for seconds! The correct word is 'more,' not 'morra!' And you should also say 'please,' since that's the polite thing to do. You're all students of the Redwall way now, so you're going to have to learn to behave like gentlebirds. Now, repeat after me: More, please!"

"Morra, morra!" Brybag screeched anew.

"Well, I'll say one thing fer shore," Winokur laughed. "There's no disputin' he knows what he wants!"

"That he does," Maura observed from over their shoulders. "But we'll soon have all three of these fine Sparra talking and acting like proper Redwallers. Now, then, just how many candied chestnuts has this little ruffian devoured this evening?"

Winokur peered into the serving tray at the center of the table. "Uh ... all of 'em, it appears."

"Then I'd say this bottomless birdgut has certainly had his fill for one sitting. Although I suppose, if he asks _nicely_, I might be convinced to have Friar Hugh bring out some more ... "

The sparrow trio ruffled themselves down into contrite fuzzballs upon their cushions, abashed by the Badger Mother's thinly-veiled reprimand. "Morra ... please?" Brybag trilled as innocently as he could.

"That's much better." Maura leaned past them to pick up the empty tray for a refill, but noticed as she did so that Budsock's plate lay most uncharacteristically half-full before the young squirrel. "Is something the matter, Budsock? You've barely touched your acorn bread, or your stew."

"He hurt 'imself comin' down th' wallsteps!" Droge blurted out. "Fell right on his - ow!" A swift elbow in the side from Budsock interrupted the vocal 'hogchild.

"He did, did he?" Maura turned her probing gaze to Budsock. "Where did you hurt yourself? And tell the truth!"

Budsock squirmed and fidgeted under that demanding look. "Aw, 's nuthin', Mother Maura! Just bumped my nose an' paws a bit - see?" He hastily thrust out both paws to demonstrate that they were largely undamaged.

"Don't ferget yer ankle - yowch!"

"Now, Budsock, it's not nice to kick your friends under the table like that. So, tell me about your ankle ... "

"It's fine! I swear!"

"Oh really? Well, something's ruining your appetite. Up on your footpaws! I want to see how you're walking for myself."

Reluctantly, Budsock rose from his seat and took several faltering steps across the stone floor behind his bench. Try as he might, he was unable to keep a noticeable limp out of his gait.

"Oh, you foolish child!" Maura bemoaned loudly enough to attract glances from several of the surrounding tables. "That needs a poultice wrap, maybe even a cast! I hope you haven't damaged it more by stupidly running about on it like that. Right, it's up to the Infirmary for you!"

This prospect seemed to terrify the usually carefree youth. Budsock froze in his tracks, giving Maura his most pleading wide-eyed stare. "No! Don't hafta go to th' 'firmary! I'll get better on my own! I'll go to bed an' stay there an' only eat vegetables an' ev'rythin'!"

"Enough of this silliness." Maura passed the empty nut tray to the young badger sharing the bench with Droge and Budsock. "Metellus, would you please go to the kitchens and fetch some more honeyed nuts for our hungry birdfriends while I see to Budsock?"

"Certainly, Mother Maura." Metellus did as he'd been bid, though he threw a concerned glance back at Budsock as he shuffled off toward the kitchens.

Maura came around the table and took Budsock firmly by the arm. "Nothing for it now, you little rascal. You need a healer's attention. Off we go!"

Her paw suddenly grew heavier as Budsock collapsed in her grip in protest. "Nooo!" he wailed, flinging himself tail-first onto the floor so that Maura would have to drag him if she wanted to take him anywhere. "Don't wanna go to th' 'fimary! Don't wanna!"

"We're going there if I have to pick you up and carry you like a baby ... which is just what I'll do if you don't stop acting like one!"

"Nooooo!" her stubborn charge cried, tears springing to his eyes.

"What has gotten into you?" Maura asked, frustrated. By this time they'd attracted the attention of everybeast in Great Hall - hardly surprising, since Budsock was screaming as if she was murdering him. She was utterly mystified, for the distraught squirrel was well past his infant seasons, and she had never known him to act this way since his arrival at Redwall. "There's nothing to be afraid of - it won't hurt at all. It'll just be a wrapping to make your footpaw feel better ... "

"What's the problem here, Maura?" Vanessa asked, coming over from the main table.

"Budsock appears to have sprained his ankle, Abbess, but he's refusing to go up to the Infirmary."

"Is that so?" Vanessa knelt down before Budsock, resting a paw of comfort on his arm. "Now, now, dry those tears and be the brave young squirrel we know you are. Tell me, why won't you let Maura take you up to the Infirmary? She only wants to stop you from hurting ... "

Budsock blinked at her. "Don't want that fox lady touchin' me," he whimpered.

Vanessa and Maura traded a wordless glance of understanding. Budsock's behavior made perfect sense now. The Abbess looked back at the whimpering youngbeast. "Then I'll just have to tend to that ankle myself. Would that be all right with you?"

Budsock sniffled and nodded.

"Okay, then, that's settled. Now, Maura, this wounded warrior shouldn't be walking all the way upstairs on that bad foot. Would you please do the honors?"

"Of course, Abbess." The big badger scooped up Budsock as if he weighed nothing and proceeded to carry his teary form out of Great Hall. Vanessa followed right at Maura's heels.

Metellus, on his way to the kitchens, had frozen upon hearing Budsock's hysterical outburst, stopping to turn back toward the scene. He just so happened to have paused alongside the table where Mona sat, although he was not immediately aware of this. He was still close enough to the children's table that he could hear almost every word that passed between Budsock, Maura and Vanessa - a clarity of sound much aided by the surprised hush that had fallen over all of Great Hall. And when the anxious squirrelchild had at last voiced his reason for not wanting to go to the Infirmary, his whimpered explanation was clear to ears even at this distance.

As Maura and the Abbess bore their patient away from the sea of staring eyes, Metellus looked aside and inadvertently locked gazes with Mona; so providential was that moment that the young badger didn't even realize into which creature's eyes he was looking for several heartbeats. In those first unrecognized moments of that silent visual exchange, he saw not the vixen but only the pain and sadness and loneliness in those red-brown orbs, the forlorn soul behind those eyes laid bare in the flickering torchlight. Then, in an instant, the rest of the fox coalesced around those shining eyes, and the illusion was shattered. But the impression would remain with Metellus long past those fleeting moments.

Mona quickly and self-consciously looked away, as if ashamed that any woodlander might have glimpsed what she'd revealed in that unspoken confession. For his part, Metellus broke the gaze half a heartbeat later, feeling as if he'd been shown something he wasn't meant to see. His thoughts in a whirl, he hurried onward toward the kitchens for a refill of candied nuts.

00000000000

Later, after most everybeast had finished its dessert and filed out of Great Hall, Granholm and the other squirrels and hares of the afternoon's lookout rotation came down for their own late dinner, their relief having arrived with full bellies.

A few of the Long Patrol and Monty's otter crew, lingering in Great Hall over their second (or third) desserts, waved the hungry sentries over to join them. The latecomers were filled in on what had happened with Budsock.

Granholm shook his head as he tucked into his acorn, lettuce and yellow cheese salad. "Only common sense. The lad sees his mum an' dad butchered by foxes ... o' course he's not gonna want to have one tendin' his hurts. Abbess shoulda figured that out a long time ago."

"Now, Granny," Sergeant Peppertail said, "I'm not any happier 'bout havin' one of Urthblood's flippin' vixens livin' here than you are, chap. A good deal less, I'd daresay, wot? I know I'd do th' same bally thing that squirrelly tyke did if I got hurt m'self, an' insist on havin' the jolly ol' Abbess treat me pers'nally. But Mona does seem t' know her beans as a medic, an' I reckon anybeast who doesn't mind havin' fox paws laid on 'em's entitled t' take her help if they're willin' t' have it. I know there's a hare or three 'mongst us who'd not be with us now if they hadn't accepted th' ministerin's of that bloody badger's swordfoxes. Long as th' Abbess says she's welcome, we gotta make her welcome."

Granholm waved a paw. "Oh, I don't have any problem with Mona myself. She seems quite decent, for a vixen, and I'd have no qualms about being her patient. But I never saw my loved ones slaughtered by her kind. I'm just sayin' it might be a bit ... insensitive ... of the Abbess, keeping her on as Infirmary keeper when she knows full well there are traumatized youngbeasts at Redwall now who might not react well to having a vixen for their healer. Woulda been like asking me to trust a searat healer, after all they did to me while I was their slave."

"Good point," said Peppertail. "Well, soon it won't be a bally issue anymore, after them brushtailed swordswingers've got their fortress built across th' river an' Mona goes to live there. 'Til then, guess we'll just all hafta grin an' bear it, wot?"

"Suppose so," Granholm agreed.

The former slave squirrel had refrained from mentioning to any of his fellow sentries on their way indoors the thing he might or might not have seen from the east walltop. He held his silence on that topic here too; how did one even begin to go about describing something you weren't even sure you saw? Granholm told himself he'd go back up to the ramparts in the morning for a second look. Until then, he would wait to report to the Abbey leaders until he felt he actually had something to report.

00000000000

"Yes," Vanessa diagnosed after a thorough examination, "definitely a sprained ankle. You must learn to be more careful on those wallsteps, young squirrel! They're not there for you to play on!"

"Yessum." Budsock sat on one of the Infirmary beds, back against a pair of propped-up pillows and leg extended in front of him so the Abbess could look at it in the lamplight. He was far from his usual rambunctious self, subdued and compliant after his outpouring of emotion down in Great Hall.

"Fortunately, we've got just what we need on paw to have you good as new in no time at all. You just lie there while I fetch it. And while I'm at it I'll also grab some ointment for those scraped elbows and paws ... "

Maura followed Vanessa into the back corner where the medicines and healer's supplies were stored. The three of them were alone in the Infirmary, and Maura spoke softly so that Budsock wouldn't be likely to overhear them.

"Vanessa, you have got to do something about naming a permanent replacement for Sister Aurelia! And not just because Mona will be leaving us soon. You saw it yourself just now - Budsock was terrified by the idea of having her treat him! We simply cannot have a head healer - not even a temporary one - who scares our little ones!"

"I think you're overreacting, Maura," Vanessa said as she gathered up what she needed to treat her young patient. "Budsock and Metellus are special cases. They lost their parents to those slaver foxes so recently ... "

Maura shook her head. "I'm not so sure. I spend more time with the children than you do, Nessa, and I can tell you it's not just our two most recent arrivals who regard Mona with trepidation. It doesn't seem to matter that Machus saved Cyrus's life last summer and is now remembered at Redwall as a hero, or that Tolar and Roxroy's two visits have been quite amiable, or even that Mona herself helped settle all their upset stomachs back on Nameday. There's something about her they just don't take to. Children can be odd that way, the way they form opinions about some beasts without getting to know them ... "

"Perhaps they associate Mona with Aurelia's loss," said Vanessa, adding a roll of bandage cloth to her inventory. "She was right there when it happened, and she's taken Aurelia's place. And then there was that tantrum Mona threw in here that evening. Thank goodness there hasn't been a repeat of that little performance."

"Yes, thank goodness. But whatever the reason, most of our young ones have come to associate Mona with this Infirmary over the past half-season, and those associations are not good ones. Maybe they've gotten wind of some of the rather bizarre statements that vixen has been heard to make ... "

"Or perhaps our two newest arrivals here have indeed been influencing the other children with their unflattering views of foxes. The simple truth is that Mona was far and away the most qualified creature here to fill in for Aurelia. There really wasn't any other choice to make, and I am most thankful that she offered us her services. And if any of the children, or anybeast else at Redwall for that matter, has a problem receiving treatment at her paws, I'll treat them myself, the way I'm doing now for Budsock."

"That's all well and good, as far as it goes," Maura whispered. "But you're a busy Abbess, and might not always be available when remedies and healing are needed quickly. You must install somebeast who will staff this Infirmary full time, and who will be acceptable to all Redwallers, of all ages."

Vanessa sighed. "Yes, I suppose you're right. But as long as we have Mona, it's not exactly an emergency situation." Satisfied that she'd collected everything she needed for her waiting patient, the Abbess started back toward the squirrelchild's bed.

"Then again," Maura countered as she kept pace alongside Vanessa, "if Mona's half the healerbeast she's reputed to be, naming Aurelia's permanent replacement now would give them a grace period during which they could learn at her side before she leaves for Foxguard."

"True. I'll have to consider the matter more fully. But for now I have a patient to tend to ... "

In no time at all Vanessa had Budsock's sprained ankle bound up in a wrap-around poultice that would ease the pain and speed recovery, with a healing slave spread on the squirrel's bruised paws and elbows as well. The Abbess agreed to his request to sleep in his own dormitory bed, as long as he promised to stay in it until Vanessa could check on him in the morning. Then, wanting to reaffirm his bravery after his teary display in Great Hall, Budsock asked if he could walk from the Infirmary to his bed under his own power.

"I ... suppose that would be all right," Vanessa relented, "as long as you don't run or jump on that ankle. The wrapping should give enough support to walk on it safely, if you're careful."

"You'd better take my paw, just to be safe," Maura added.

As the Badger Mother led Budsock out into the corridor, they found Mona waiting there. The healer vixen had lately taken to sleeping in the Infirmary, so that she would always be there anytime of the day or night lest anybeast require her attention. Mona had wanted to stay clear of the sick bay while Vanessa saw to Budsock, but now there was no way for the young squirrel to avoid her.

Maura reassuringly squeezed his paw. "Nothing to be afraid of ... "

Budsock jutted his jaw out at Mona defiantly. "'m not afraid o' _her_!"

The pretty vixen flashed a disarming smile. "Of course you're not. Feel better, my brave young rogue."

Budsock led the way up the hall toward his common dormitory, all but pulling Maura after him, the haste in his limping gait betraying his anxiety to be away from there.

Vanessa tarried a moment at the healer's side. "Thank you for being so understanding, Mona. He's young, and his recent loss was a terrible one. He will see things differently when he gets a little older. You yourself lost your sister to searats when you were little more than a child, so I'm sure you can identify with what he must be feeling. Please don't take it personally. It's very difficult for him now - him and Metellus both."

Mona nodded her appreciation. "There are quite frankly times, Abbess, when I feel as if I don't belong here at Redwall, and this evening was one of them. If it weren't for the support and trust you've shown me yourself, I don't know what I would do."

Vanessa set a paw lightly upon Mona's arm. "There's always a place for any creature of good will at this Abbey. We're all still getting used to these new ways of Lord Urthblood's, learning how to see foxes and rats and weasels as friends. I daresay it will take some of us longer than others. Don't lose heart, Mona. If you're truly a good soul, everybeast here will see it eventually. Good night, now."

"And good night to you, Abbess." They parted ways with an exchange of friendly nods, Vanessa strolling down the corridor to her private chambers while Mona entered the Infirmary she currently called home.

00000000000

For a long time after changing into her nightshirt, Mona sat on the edge of her bed, unable to bring herself to lie down to sleep. The mistrust and skepticism of woodlanders was nothing new to her; she'd long ago grown accustomed to having such attitudes directed at her in the Northlands, even after joining Lord Urthblood and refining her healing skills under his tutelage. But here it was different, being alone amongst the Redwallers and accepting the full measure of their hospitality even as some of them regarded her so obviously as an outsider, an aberration, somebeast who didn't fit in with the rest of the Abbey. It was worse than ever now that Captain Grayfoot had left to go build his tavern. She'd long known the ferret officer, and coming down from the north with him had greatly eased the transition of moving to this new place. Now there was just Judelka, who would have been next to useless as a source of commiseration even without the distractions of her newborn, and Smallert, whose disgraceful conduct of the previous summer rendered him disreputable in the eyes of anybeast whose first allegiance lay with Urthblood (as hers most certainly did). Lady Mina was Mona's saving grace, for that Gawtrybe squirrel liked and trusted her as much as the healer vixen respected Mina, and her marriage to Alexander had helped elevate Mona's standing in the eyes of Redwall's squirrels. Of course, there was a downside to even this alliance, since the Long Patrols were suspicious of anybeast who swore fealty to the Badger Lord - which made Lady Mina highly questionable in their view, and Mona doubly so.

There was just no winning.

Thank the fates for the Abbess. She'd been one of the few Redwallers to give Mona the full benefit of the doubt almost from the moment she'd arrived at Redwall. The other Abbey leaders might still harbor reservations about her, but as long as Vanessa asserted that Mona was welcome as a guest and appreciated as their interim Infirmary keeper, they had to be as gracious about the situation as they could bring themselves to be, regardless of their inner feelings.

Still, it was hard. Mona was a very sensitive creature - she had to be, in order to be attuned to other beasts' pain and distress. She just wished sometimes that those around her could be as sensitive to her as she was to them.

She realized that somebeast had come to the Infirmary door. Glancing up from her bed in the far corner of the long room, Mona saw Metellus standing on the threshold. She expected the young badger to turn and flee, but instead he ventured farther into the sick bay toward her. "Where's Budsock?" he asked.

"Maura took him to his regular dormitory bed. She and the Abbess thought he would be more comfortable there." Mona was almost tempted to add _and no, I didn't eat him_, but she resisted.

To her surprise, Metellus stood his ground. "I wanted to apologize to you for what he said. Down there in Great Hall. I saw the hurt in your eyes when you thought nobeast was looking. Bud didn't mean to hurt you. Neither of us ever meant to. And I'm sorry if we did."

A wistful smile lifted the corners of Mona's mouth. "Thank you. That means a lot to me, you coming here to tell me that."

"Is Bud gonna be okay?"

"He'll be fine. The Abbess took very good care of him."

"Oh." Metellus was silent a few moments, then said, "If I ever get sick or hurt, you can take care of me. I won't mind."

Mona felt a tear moisten her cheek, and hoped it wasn't visible in the subdued lamplight to this badgerchild who saw so much. "Well, I for one hope you never need a healer during the rest of my time at Redwall, but if you do, I promise to give you my very best care."

"Okay. Well, good night." And with that, Metellus turned and shuffled out of the Infirmary.

Mona sat on her bed alone for some time after that. When she finally put out the lamp and slid beneath the covers, she fell quickly asleep, and enjoyed the best night's rest she'd had in a long time.


	3. Chapter 64

Chapter Sixty-Four

No rain fell that night or the following day, although a heavy springtime mist of fog lay over Mossflower, enshrouding the forest in its ghostly mantle and making clothes and fur cling clammily against the skin.

Even though it wasn't his turn for lookout duty, Granholm climbed to the east walltop after breakfast, but the dreary weather made it impossible to see more than a little way into the woods. Granholm shrugged and headed back down into the warm confines of the Abbey, content to let the mystery of the previous afternoon sit for another day. He was new to Redwall, and didn't want to risk making a fool of himself by causing a fuss over nothing.

None of the walltop sentries saw anything out of the ordinary that day. Due to Granholm's reticence, they didn't even know where to look, but even if they had, nature's damp veil would not have yielded any of Mossflower's secrets to them this day ...

00000000000

At the conclusion of the morning meal, Maura herded all the Abbey's older children up to the room where Brother Geoff conducted his lessons in reading and spelling and Redwall history. Only Budsock was excused from this day's classes, once he'd promised to stay in bed to nurse his sprained ankle. In truth the young squirrel probably could have attended class without any ill effects, but his injury and the uninspiring weather provided perfect excuses for him to forgo his lessons in favor of pampering in a soft, warm Redwall bed. Vanessa was equally content to indulge the rascally squirrelchild for a change.

The three Sparra chicks Brybag, Harpreet and Skytop rested in their usual spots at the front of the classroom, settled on the floor atop nests of rumpled blankets arrayed before Geoff's desk. The rest of the children sat in a wide circle behind the three birds at smaller desks of their own on which they could practice their letters and penbeastship. Winokur and Cyrus, who helped Geoff prepare and present his lessons, had been given special desks to either side of the historian's, angled so that the two assistant students could address both the Recorder mouse and their fellow pupils.

"Today, we're going to discuss Abbess Mhera," Geoff began. "She was one of several Abbots and Abbesses down through Redwall's history who have been named by the spirit of Martin the Warrior. This is especially important in the case of Mhera, who was a youngbeast living here at a time when Redwall had no Abbot or Abbess ... "

"Burr hurr, no Habbot or Habbess?" Gubkin the mole burst out in surprise.

"How can that be?" seconded Cuffy the dormouse. "We got an Abbot _and_ an Abbess!"

"Well, we're very fortunate in that regard," said Geoff, not the least bit upset by the interruption since it gave him a chance to elaborate on his lecture. "It just so happened that our Abbot Arlyn named Vanessa to succeed him at a time when he would be able to enjoy a few seasons of retirement, to which he was certainly entitled. Nobeast, except maybe for some of the prophetic Badger Lords and seer foxes, knows how much time it has in this world, and Arlyn wanted to make sure he didn't die without naming the one who would come after him. I'm sure some of you are old enough to remember when Vanessa was still just our Infirmary keeper. Well, it has sometimes happened in our history that an Abbot or Abbess has died without naming their replacement, and that leaves Redwall without one."

"What happens then?" asked the mousechild Francy.

"Then, the Abbeybeasts must either elect a new one based on their own best judgment, or else do without one until Martin makes his voice known in a dream or vision. That's what happened with Mhera. Redwall had been without an Abbot or Abbess since the passing of Abbess Songbreeze. It is written that the Badger Mother Lady Cregga Rose-eyes resisted all efforts by the Abbeyfolk over the course of many seasons to name her Abbess. Perhaps she knew that the spirit of Martin was destined to speak to her when it was time to name the true Abbess ... and Martin's choice was Mhera."

Most of the children sat enraptured by this tale; they never tired of any stories that had to do with the legendary warrior mouse who founded Redwall and whose spirit watched over the Abbey to this day ... or at least up until Urthblood's visit here, although none of the Abbey leaders had seen fit to share that possibility with the children under their care.

The only students who were less than enthralled by this accounting were the three Sparra. For all this talk of Abbots and Abbesses and visions, Geoff might as well have been speaking Sealtongue as far as they were concerned.

"Now then," Geoff went on, "who here can tell me what was so special about Abbess Mhera? Yes, Droge?"

The hedgehog lowered his arm. "She was chosen by Martin's ghost!"

"Well, yes, she was, but I just told you that, didn't I? As I've said, a number of our Abbesses and Abbots have been named that way. No, there's something about Mhera that makes her special. I know we've talked about her in class before. Use your heads, beasts!"

"Hurr," moaned Billus, "moi 'ead's too sluggershloike this early in ee morn, burr hurr!"

"Aye," agreed a young otter named Wronk, "me brekkist's still too heavy in me stummick t' think straight!"

"Well, you of all beasts should know the answer to this, Wronk."

"I should?"

"Yes, and that's a very big clue. Anybeast? Anybeast at all?"

"Wurr she a gurt wurrier, loike Marthen 'imself?" guessed Padgett.

"No," answered Geoff, "although some of Redwall's champions have gone on to become Abbot or Abbess. Arven the squirrel was a good example of that. But back to Mhera. What was unique about her?"

"Unique!" Harpreet suddenly cheeped out loud with earsplitting clarity, deciding she liked the sound of that particular word.

"Yes, uni - "

"Uniqueuniqueunique!" Harpreet trilled, causing Geoff and every other large-eared creature in the room to cover those ears with their paws.

"Okay, yes, that's quite enough of that, you young featherscamp!" Geoff scolded lightly. "We all hear that you can pronounce that word very well. Now please be quiet!"

"Unique!" the Sparra chick chirped more softly, then settled down into a satisfied silence once more.

"Now, back to Abbess Mhera ... "

"Well, she were an otter, like m'self," said Wronk.

"There you go!" Geoff congratulated the young waterbeast. "Mhera was the very first otter to be Abbot or Abbess of Redwall! Most who've held that post have been mice, although there have also been squirrels and hedgehogs too. But there had never been an otter leading our Abbey before Mhera."

The Recorder mouse motioned to Winokur, who rose from his seat and came out to stand where everybeast could see him. "As some of you may have noticed, the habit Wink is wearing this morning is not his usual one. You may have been wondering why these robes seem a little tight and short on him. That's because these are Abbess Mhera's robes. It is said that even after she became Abbess, Mhera preferred to wear the colorful skirts she favored, and only donned her formal habits for special occasions such as Namedays or weddings. That is why one of her habits came to survive until our time in nearly flawless condition."

"Looks kinda tattered t' me," observed Cuffy.

"That's because this habit has a double significance," said Geoff. "Winokur wore it last summer when he marched to Salamandastron with Lord Urthblood as Redwall's emissary, in the hope that he could help avert the war between Badger Lords. It is the uniform of a peacemaker!" Geoff beamed as he ran his proud gaze over the otter novice. "Of course, Wink's filled out a bit since then, and that habit has been through a long march and a battle, so it's not the pristine garment it once was. We've washed the blood and grime from it as best we could, patched it up a bit, but those light stains and mends that remain bear testimony to what these robes and their wearer endured. This is a habit of historic importance, and will be preserved as a memento and artifact of last summer's troubled times. Thank you for serving as my model this morning, Winokur ... "

Wink grinned. "Guess that makes me a living lesson, huh?"

"Are you gonna be Abbot someday?" asked Droge. "I heard you were ... "

"Well, that's really up to Abbess Vanessa," said Winokur, "since she gets to pick her successor. I mean, I am officially a novice of the Redwall order, and I would be most honored to become Abbot someday, but in all truth I'd be just as happy being the Abbey historian and Recorder, like Brother Geoff here."

Geoff smiled and blushed slightly at this, but Droge looked confused. "Why'd anybeast wanna be a stuffy ol' boring teacher when they could be Abbot?"

"Stuffy?" Geoff drew himself up, glaring at the plainspoken 'hogchild. "Would you care to rephrase that, young Droge?"

"Um ... I didn't mean _you_, Mr. Geoff sir," Droge said quickly in a stammering half-giggle.

"No? Then you must have been talking about one of your other stuffy teachers," Geoff challenged, since he was the only full-time instructor any of these children had ever had.

The Sparra Brybag decided this would be a good time to try out his fledgling vocal ability. "Stuffy!" he cheeped.

Geoff turned on the bird seated on the floor before him. "Now don't you start - "

"Stuffy-stuffy-stuffy-stuffy-stuffy!" Brybag warbled with glee.

Geoff buried his face in his paws while the rest of the room dissolved into gales of laughter. Even Cyrus and Winokur found it impossible not to grin and giggle at the sparrow's antics.

"Some days, I don't know why I even bother," the mouse historian bemoaned.

"Well, ya hafta admit," Wink consoled his elder, "that featherbag's pronunciation _was_ perfect!"

00000000000

While most of the Abbey's residents stayed indoors that morning if they could manage it, Hanchett found the dank and gloomy day a perfect match for his mood.

The young Long Patrol runner stood in the orchard with his back against an old apple tree. This late in the spring the boughs and branches were in full leaf, and the green canopy hid the sullen hare from the sentries on the walltops above him. A crew of moles tended the gardens in the northern part of the Abbey grounds, but distance and the spacing of the treetrunks hid Hanchett from their eyes as well. It was about as alone as anybeast could be within Redwall these days.

The surly fighter was not at all happy with the present state of affairs at the Abbey and nearer Mossflower. It had been bad enough when there was a weasel and a stoat - both former soldiers of Urthblood's - living at Redwall, along with that squirrel witch who'd blinded the leader of the Mossflower Patrol with her looks and tricked him into marriage so that she would henceforth be inextricably bound to the Abbey's affairs, poisoning their minds with Urthblood's propaganda and giving that bloody badger a clawhold into Redwall itself. This past season, however, things had gone from bad to worse.

At least the Abbeyfolk had finally been made to see what kind of beast that stoat drunk was; too bad the price of that lesson had been the life of the Abbey's chief healer. And the Abbess's wisdom in appointing that untrustworthy vixen to temporarily fill that post was questionable in the extreme. Sure, Mona might be a skilled healer, but at what cost to their soul would the Redwallers benefit from her talents? The very idea of those treacherous swordfoxes building a fortress of their own in this region of Mossflower was almost too much to bear. But for the Redwallers to become intimate - friendly, even! - with those brushtailed butchers was intolerable. Twice now representatives of that fox brigade had come to the Abbey, and both times they'd been welcomed as guests. Between those visits and Mona worming her way into the Redwallers' confidence in their own Infirmary, those foxes were digging their claws into the Abbey as surely as Lady Mina was.

And these were not even the worst of the most recent arrivals. That dim-witted ferretwife's babe was winning over Abbeybeasts' hearts with its sweet innocence, so of course how could they possibly object to her warrior husband setting up shop just down the road? They were even helping to build his tavern for him - a tavern designed by Urthblood himself, so who could say what dark secrets it might hold that the Redwallers would unknowingly build with their own paws?

And then there was the thing that rankled most of all. Urthblood could never have pulled off his treachery against his own brother so successfully without the help of that traitorous hare who'd fooled them all. Hanchett couldn't begin to imagine what in the name of fur and four seasons had possessed Mizagelle to take Browder for her husband, and thereby extend the protection of the Long Patrol over their most hated enemy, but something about the arrangement smacked of Urthblood's sorcery. Hanchett knew he was hardly the only hare of the Patrols who'd sworn a blood oath to themselves to kill Browder if they ever crossed paths with that deceitful spy again. And now even that minimal vengeance had been denied them, by a twist of fate so depraved that it begged credulity. It was enough to drive an honest hare mad.

Hanchett could tell that Colonel Clewiston was just as frustrated by this sorry situation as were the rest of the Long Patrols - probably moreso, since he had been left no choice but to order his hares to keep their paws off Browder when in truth he would have liked nothing better than to throttle Browder himself. As for the other agents of Urthblood who seemed to be settling in around them everywhere they looked these days, the Colonel was less than nonplussed by the urgency of these matters; he reasoned that Urthblood was bound to make a move on Mossflower eventually, as they'd all known he would, and it was better to have his minions operating in plain sight than off in the shadows somewhere. The truth was that Judelka, Mona, Smallert, Mina and Browder were all being kept under much closer watch by the Long Patrol than they realized, and it was not from any sense of selfless altruism that Clewiston had dispatched Sergeant Traughber to help the moles and otters with the construction of Grayfoot's inn. Once Foxguard was finished, there would be hares keeping watch on that place as well. For now, however, with so much going on in and around the Abbey, the Colonel was content to leave the surveillance of Foxguard to Redwall's Sparra, who could cover the distance to the other side of the River Moss more easily and more frequently than any land creature.

Hanchett was not content. Not about Foxguard, or anything else. Even his relationship with Smallert had taken a turn for the worse lately. When he'd spent a number of days manacled to that weasel the previous summer, Hanchett had gotten to know Smallert as a goodhearted beast who was genuinely aggrieved by the trouble he'd caused the Redwallers. After the Long Patrol had settled at the Abbey in the aftermath of their defeat at Salamandastron, as Hanchett had grown more distant from his fellow hares he'd ironically spent more and more time with Smallert, finding the weasel one of the few creatures at Redwall whose presence he could tolerate for long periods. But that was before it became known that Urthblood's foxes were building a stronghold nearby, before that tyrant's squirrel queen had married into the Redwall family, before one of his vixens became Redwall's healer, before his ferret captain showed up with plans to establish his own tavern down the road from them, and before Browder had made his new home in the only sanctuary the Long Patrol had left. And the incident with Sister Aurelia had proven that even a goodhearted vermin like Broggen was still a vermin; if that stoat was capable of such evil, surely Smallert was as well. It all left Hanchett feeling more alone than ever.

It was exactly the wrong time for Browder to run across Hanchett without an escort.

Hanchett heard his nemesis muttering to himself as he approached, clearly wrapped up in his own thoughts and oblivious to the fact that anybeast else was in the orchard. The Long Patrol instantly used his sharp hearing and scout's training to determine the exact angle of Browder's approach, flattening himself against the far side of the treetrunk so as not to reveal his presence.

"Ah, nice t' stretch the jolly old stompers out in th' fresh air, wot? Too bad the bally sky's so gray an' cheerless, but at least it gets me away from every blinkin' beast who's tryin' t' smother me! A chap needs room t' breathe, don'tcha know. Kurdyla's a fine fellow, but havin' him shadow me everywhere I go can get rather suffocatin'. Wot's he think is gonna happen to me, right here inside this grand Abbey? The spankin' ol' Abbess herself has given everybeast the paws-off order on me, an' so has th' Colonel, sensible old bean that he is. Not t' mention that Mizzy would positively brain any of her flopeared pals who tried anything out of sorts. Ah, my dear sweet Mizagelle! Best thing t' ever happen to this old player, an' more than I thought I'd ever have. Been near half a season now since we got hitched, an' with a little one on th' way, I'm as much a part o' this community as anybeast ever was! If any blackhearted rounder was gonna draw my precious blood, they'd have done it by now, wot? Now, where's that bloomin' sanicle the Abbess said she needed for the Infirmary? Told me some grew around the damson trees. Lessee, damson trees, damson trees ... "

With his gaze directed up toward the tree branches, Browder strolled right past Hanchett without ever noticing the Long Patrol hare. Hanchett stepped away from his concealing tree and came to within a pace of his target, moving with the practiced stealth that made him as silent as a phantom. He stopped close enough that he could have reached out and tapped Browder on the shoulder, and still the older hare remained unaware of Hanchett's dire proximity.

Browder scratched at his jaw in puzzlement. "How th' blazes am I s'posed t' tell a damson from an apple from a bally badgernut? These bloomin' trees aren't even in bloom yet! Without any fruit on their branches, they all look the same to me ... "

Hanchett pointed past Browder's ear. "I think those are damsons over there."

Browder actually jumped at the sudden appearance of the arm in his peripheral vision and the unexpected voice in his ear. He spun around to face Hanchett's grimly smiling visage. "Oh, hullo there! Didn't hear you sneak up on - _OOMPH!_"

Hanchett's first surprise punch to the stomach knocked the wind clear out of Browder with its unrestrained savagery, robbing him of all ability to speak or cry out. From there, the rest was easy ...

00000000000

"Has anybeast seen Browder?"

Mizagelle and Kurdyla picked their way through Great Hall, where scores of Abbeybeasts sat around the various tables even though it was not mealtime, content to snack and drink and socialize with their fellow Redwallers if it kept them indoors on this dreary day. Alex and Mina had led most of the squirrels out on an extended patrol of nearby Mossflower sometime after breakfast, but that still left all the hares and otters and many of the Abbey's other residents with idle paws, and the willingness to keep them that way. It only took half a dozen lookouts or so to staff the ramparts, and all the other outdoor chores could be left where they were for this one day. There would be time aplenty to get them done when the sun returned.

Even Vanessa treated herself to a respite from her duties, having just come down from checking on her patient Budsock in the children's dormitory. The young squirrel was in high spirits after his traumatic fit during dinner the night before, and would probably be walking normally again by the morrow. Now she looked up from where she sat with Colonel Clewiston and Melanie. "Browder? Why, I sent him out to the orchard a short time ago to see if he could find me some more sanicle. I noticed when I was treating Budsock's ankle last night that the Infirmary was running low on it, and I seemed to remember seeing some clumps growing out near the damson trees."

Kurdyla stiffened at this news. "He's outside, marm? All by 'imself?"

"Yes," Vanessa nodded, "and he seemed to prefer it that way. I know he appreciates how you've been looking out for him since he came to Redwall, Kurdyla, but everybeast needs its breathing space too. Now that he's settled in here and the Long Patrols have grown to accept his presence, perhaps you don't need to be quite so ... protective of him as you've been."

"That's wot I've been tellin' this big lunk," Mizagelle said, placing a gentle paw on the burly otter's arm. "Now that I'm carrying Browder's child, he's a part of the Long Patrol family for keeps, for better or worse."

"Yeah," Melanie muttered as she nibbled on a celery pastie, "the black sheep of the family! Never wagered I'd be callin' that fink my son-in-law, wot?"

"True love strikes in the jolly unlikeliest places, eh, Mum?"

"Mizzy's right," said Clewiston. "No hare of the Patrols would dare lay a paw on Browder, an' it's not just on my say-so or the Abbess's either. That babe growin' in Mizzy's belly ties Browder to us by blood, an' no self-respectin' hare among us would go against that. So you can bally well stop wearin' that worry on yer whiskers, my strappin' chappie, 'cos Browder's biggest worry these days is tripping over his own footpaws."

"And naming his son or daughter," Mizagelle added with a sly wink.

"Any ideas on that score yet?" Melanie inquired.

"We're kicking a few around," Mizzy smiled, running her paw over her stomach; she was barely showing yet. "We've still got some time to decide. And a lot'll depend on whether it's a boy or a girl ..."

"Long as it's not Percival," Melanie said dourly, eliciting a stifled chuckle from her husband. Even Vanessa allowed herself a smirk at this. Fortunately, there was no danger of Judelka overhearing this ribbing of her son's name; that ferretwife had seldom emerged from her room since Grayfoot had left the Abbey, preferring to just stay in bed nursing the babe and watching him sleep. Vanessa and Maura looked in on mother and child frequently to make sure all was well with them, but otherwise let them be.

Clewiston straightened his whiskers. "Well, all I can jolly well say is - "

The Colonel was cut off by the slam of the outer door and Foremole's gruff and excited voice. "Cumm quickloik, gennelbeasts! 'anchert just troid t' slay Browdee!"


	4. Chapter 65

Chapter Sixty-Five

Everybeast in Great Hall rushed outside, following Foremole's stoutly bustling form to the orchard. He led them right to Browder's prone figure, sprawled at the base of the apple tree in the middle of the grove.

The Redwallers were aghast. Pulverized was the only word to accurately describe the hapless hare's condition. Browder's lips were split, his nose bloody, his eyes swollen shut, and his left ear looked to be torn almost halfway through. His clothes and fur undoubtedly hid many other bruises and welts, and perhaps even some broken bones as well. Hanchett had made a first-rate mess out of him, and that could not be denied.

Mizagelle knelt down alongside her battered husband, cradling his head gingerly in her paws. Browder groaned and muttered something unintelligible; in his present state it was impossible to tell whether he might have been trying to open his eyes.

"Hush now, darling," Mizagelle cooed. "Your Mizzy's here. Lie still, and everything's gonna be all right ... "

Colonel Clewiston scowled and ground his teeth. "This is wrong. Just jolly well plain wrong. Where's Hanchett?"

"Oi seed 'im run out ee eastern wall gate, zurr," Foremole answered, pointing one hefty digging claw in that direction. "Oi reckern 'e's varnished deep into ee furrest ... "

Scarcely had Foremole finished speaking when Kurdyla was off and running toward the open wallgate, sprinting as fast as any hare in spite of his muscular bulk. One or two of the Long Patrols made to chase after the enraged otter, but Clewiston held them back with an upraised paw and a sharp bark of command. "Let 'im go, chaps. If Hanchett's tried to lose himself in th' woods, the most skilled trackerbeast alive wouldn't be able to turn him up. Chances are that waterdog's not gonna find Hanch, but if he does, I don't want anybeast gettin' hurt tryin' to come between 'em. Those two're out fer blood, an' this'll hafta be between the two of them now."

The Colonel's hares were clearly dissatisfied with this verdict, but Hanchett had caused their commander enough heartache for one day, and they weren't about to add to it by openly defying his orders in front of so many Abbeybeasts. Chewing on their gorge, they stood down from their state of battle-readiness.

Vanessa's concerns, meanwhile, centered upon the battered beast at her feet. "We must get Browder up to the Infirmary at once! His injuries could be life-threatening. Monty, have some of your otters grab the top off one of those smaller tables over there. We can use it as a litter. It might not be safe to move Browder any other way ... "

While Montybank's crew retrieved the requested tabletop, Vanessa ran her experienced healer's paws over the abused hare's head and torso, feeling for any fractures or breaks that might cause them serious problems. Browder inhaled and moaned a couple of times as Vanessa's probing touch encountered some of the tenderest spots, but on the whole he was drifting in and out of awareness the entire time.

"I think one or two ribs might be cracked, so it's best we're moving him this way," Vanessa announced as the makeshift stretcher was laid down beside Browder. "The only blood around his mouth seems to be from his split lip, and there's no choking or rasping coming from his throat, so I don't think he's suffered any internal injuries, or at least not in the heart or lungs. Let's get him onto the litter and up to the Infirmary. Mona will know how to treat him better than I."

The otters carefully took Browder by the legs and shoulders and lifted him onto the tabletop, then bore him indoors and up the stairs to the sick bay. Mizagelle was at his side the entire way, grasping his paw and whispering soothing words of encouragement into his torn ear. Vanessa, Clewiston and Melanie accompanied him as well, but the Abbess put her foot down when half the Abbey wanted to join the entourage.

"Please, please, everybeast stay down here and go about your normal business," the Abbess implored, standing on the bottom step and holding up her paws to dissuade them from following her upstairs. "We'll need room to work in the Infirmary, and we can't have it crowded with onlookers and well-wishers, however decent your intentions might be. If you want to help Browder now, the best thing you can do for him is to stay out of our way up there and send him your prayers and good thoughts. You'll all be told as soon as we know anything."

As Vanessa hustled up the stairs, the hare Baxley looked to his wife, Mizagelle's sister Givadon, and asked, "Prayers an' good thoughts? Why'd we wanna give those t' that louse?"

"Dunno." Givadon shrugged. "My good thoughts right now are goin' out t' Hanchett, for havin' th' nerve t' do wot th' rest of us never had th' blinkin' guts to do. My fink of a brother-in-law can push up daisies for all I care!"

00000000000

No sooner had Browder and his caregivers disappeared into the main Abbey than the walltop sentries were confronted with another development. Out of the slate-gray skies and hanging drizzle to the west emerged the keening, spread-winged form of Captain Klystra, flapping his way in from the Western Plains. The jerkin-adorned falcon alighted upon the battlements above the main gate and waited to be received.

The warbird did not have to wait long. The otters Wharff and Rumter, along with Lekkas the mouse, hurried over to greet Klystra. Rumter was a little leery of the raptor, but the two former slaves ran right up to their one-time rescuer without hesitation, warmly patting Klystra on beak and wing and talon.

"Hey, good to see you again!" Lekkas enthused with a friendly smile.

"Yeah," added Wharff, "what brings ye here, ya good ol' featherbag?"

"More slaves coming 'cross Western Plains from Salamandastron," Klystra said. "Much news to tell. Where Abbot and Abbess?"

"Well, they're kinda busy just now," Wharff informed the falcon. "Had a bit o' bother 'tween Browder an' one o' the other hares, an' the Abbess is inside seein' to it."

"Here's hopin' he lives t' enjoy fatherhood," worried Wharff. "That looked like some drubbin' he got from Hanchett. An' right under our noses, too ... "

"Aw, I'm sure he'll be fine," said Lekkas. "Between the Abbess and Mona, he's got the two best healerbeasts in Mossflower looking after him. But it might be awhile before any of them can get to you, Klystra my friend. Come on, let Wharff and me show you down to Great Hall, and Friar Hugh can get you some food and drink. You must be hungry and thirsty after flying all over the place. Hey, Rumter, can you watch the walltop alone for awhile? We've got to go down and get Klystra settled in ... "

"Shore. No problem. Alex 'n th' Forest Patrols should be back anytime now anyway, an' some of 'em can spell you." The young otter threw another wary glance at the falcon, still keeping his distance as Klystra hopped off the battlements and fell into step behind Lekkas and Wharff. "You two have fun with yore birdfriend ... "

00000000000

"He'll live," Mona announced upon concluding her preliminary examination of Browder. "But he'll be in considerable pain for the next day or two, and he'll look like a wreck for at least that long until the swelling goes down and the worst of the bruising goes away."

The litter-bearers had gotten the injured hare up to the Infirmary and transferred to a bed without any problem. Mizagelle stayed by her delirious husband's side the entire time, and now knelt at his bedside caressing one of his paws in both of hers. "Y' hear that, Browder? Ye're gonna be okay. Mona said so ..."

The player hare forced his swollen eyes open to slits. "Ooo, I don't like pain. Never did, wot? Oow, I feel like I've been run through th' blinkin' ringer, an' how!"

"Hanchett rang you up good, no arguin' that," Clewiston said.

"Mona will give you something for the pain," Mizzy soothed. "You just worry about gettin' that handsome actor's profile of yours back in joint. Don't wanna end up married to a hideous ogre, don'tcha know."

Browder started to laugh, but his hoarse chuckle immediately gave way to an agonized grunt. "Ow! Don't make me laugh, Mizzy m' gel, sends daggers right 'tween my bloomin' ribs ... "

"Then that's what we'll work on first," Mona interjected, leaning Browder forward. "Let's get you out of this bloody tunic and bandage those ribs good and tight so they'll heal right. Then I'll see to stitching that ear back together."

"Are you certain there's no inner bleeding or organ damage?" Vanessa asked the vixen. "I was worried that Browder might have ruptured something when Hanchett hit him so hard, or that a rib might have punctured something. That's always a danger with fractured ribs ... "

"I'll keep a close eye on him tonight, Abbess, but I'm fairly confident it's all just minor injuries."

"Minor!" Browder sputtered in indignation. "Here I sit half-dead, an' this brushtail dismisses my dire state as inconsequential!"

"I never called it that," Mona protested, gently peeling off Browder's shirt. "Each one of your injuries by itself is relatively minor, but Hanchett gave you so many all at once, it seems far worse than it actually is. The greatest danger was that he might have given you a concussion, and there is a chance that you're suffering a mild one, but the fact that you've regained enough coherence to be talking to us now is a good sign." She turned to Vanessa. "If no fever or abdominal swelling develops by midnight, I'll be ready to declare him completely out of danger."

"Then that's good enough for me, Mona. I'll lend a paw, if you have no objections. Maybe I can get that ear cleaned up and ready for stitching while you're tending to his ribs."

"Thank you, Abbess. I'd appreciate the help." Mona passed Browder's bloodstained tunic to an otter standing nearby. "May as well burn that - those stains will never come out."

"Aye, marm."

Vanessa dampened a washcloth in a basin of warm water and set to work on Browder's ravaged ear, eliciting a series of pained winces from her patient. "Ouch! Have a care there, Abbess m' gel. My everlovin' lug's half-off already, an' I'm rather attached to it."

"We're trying to save it, you foolish child, so quit whimpering and be still!"

"Foolish child? Why, I bet I'm older than you by a season or three. Wot's th' bally age requirement for becomin' Abbess anyway?"

Vanessa looked at Mona, shaking her head. "Are you sure you'll be able to put up with this all night?"

"Speakin' of night, ma'am, you are gonna post a guard over me tonight, aren't you? Mebbe one o' these strappin' otter fellas ... just in case that bloodthirsty bully sneaks up here lookin' t' finish wot he started. He already tried t' kill me once today, and t'would be a shame if he succeeded right here in your own Infirmary, wot?"

Clewiston snorted. "If Hanchett had wanted you dead, Browder, you wouldn't be sittin' there breathing right now. Besides, he's run off into Mossflower. No tellin' when or if he'll be coming back."

"Don't worry, Browder." Mizagelle patted his paw. "I'll stay with you tonight. And if Hanchett shows his whiskers lookin' to start more trouble, I'll kick his scut from here to th' River Moss!"

Clovis appeared in the Infirmary doorway. "Excuse me, Abbess? I just thought you should know that Lord Urthblood's falcon captain Klystra has arrived. He says he has news."

Vanessa sighed. "If it's not one thing, it's another. Thank you, Clovis. Did the news sound urgent?"

"I'm not really sure, Abbess."

"Very well. I'll finish up here as quickly as I can. If Captain Klystra must have the ear of an Abbey leader at once, go fetch Arlyn from his gatehouse cottage - I'm sure he's probably snoozing in front of the fireplace as we speak. Otherwise, have Friar Hugh provide our falcon guest with whatever he wants, and I will attend him presently."

"Yes, Abbess." Clovis nodded and hurried off to relay these instructions.

"I like that young mouse," Vanessa smiled as she swabbed Browder's ear. "So eager to please and fit in, and yet such a strong and independent spirit as well. Reminds me of myself when I was her age. After all she's been through, I'm glad to see her settling in so well."

"Well, it's easy to settle in, isn't it," groused Browder, "when you're not gettin' pummeled everytime you turn around, wot - _OW!_"

00000000000

Kurdyla was no skilled trackerbeast, but even if he had been, his crazed wrath would have blinded him to the tiny telltale signs marking Hanchett's passage. Instead the big otter charged through the deep woods on intuition alone, guided by some sixth sense which told him he was headed the right way. He made no effort toward stealth on his own part, neither in the dampening of his heavy footfalls nor in avoiding the vegetation through which he crashed, unheeding of anything but the need to overtake his quarry.

Hanchett heard the commotion of his hunter's approach from a long way off. The renegade Long Patrol hare squatted over a trickling spring, waiting for the exertion of his run to subside so that he could quench his thirst without danger of cramps. Now he levered himself up once more to his slightly trembling legs, head cocked to gauge the manner of beast bearing down on him. Hanchett allowed himself a private smirk; there was only one creature at Redwall who would be coming after him with such brutish, singleminded purpose. He drew his dagger and slipped behind the nearest tree, a broad oak which would hide him from the charging otter.

Kurdyla thudded right past the concealed hare for a score of paces, then skidded to an abrupt halt as he sensed the nearness of the beast he sought. Hanchett stepped out onto the forest path behind the otter, adroitly hefting his small blade. "Lookin' for me, streamdog?"

Kurdyla spun and lunged at the hare, paws reaching for Hanchett's neck. The young scout held his ground until the last possible moment, then dodged out of the way, leaving the otter's throttling claws to close around empty air. "Pah! Is that th' best you can do, rudderhead?"

Kurdyla spun again, lashing out with his thick tail to knock Hanchett's legs out from under him. Again the experienced runner anticipated his adversary perfectly, jumping over the swinging tail with the ease and grace of a playful child engaged in friendly outdoor sport. But the dagger never for a moment left his grasp, a deadly reminder that this engagement was neither friendly nor playful.

When Kurdyla charged again, Hanchett backpedalled instead of ducking and weaving, keeping his face toward the otter. "Just so you know, chap, if you do by some miracle succeed in gettin' your fishy paws 'round my neck, this blade's goin' right inta yer heart."

"Don't care," Kurdyla growled. "You tried t' kill Browder. Now I'm gonna kill you!"

"Kill Browder? Whoohoo, that's a right jolly corker! If I'd been aimin' to slay that ratted traitor, he'd be dead now. Just gave him some nice little bumps 'n' bruises t' show him wot this hare thinks of him marryin' his way inta th' Patrols ... since I never did get him a wedding gift, wot?" Seeing that Kurdyla was closing the gap and getting too close for comfort, Hanchett feinted left then right, bounding clear over the spring to the spongy moss bed on the opposite side. For a second time Kurdyla's clutching paws were too slow to catch up to the lightning-quick hare.

Hanchett splashed into the spring as Kurdyla rounded on him yet again. "Bah! Hate gettin' my stompers soggy, don'tcha know!" With practiced ease, he kicked up a spray of water into the otter's eyes. In the heartbeat that it took Kurdyla to blink his vision clear, Hanchett leapt straight up into the air and unleashed a savage two-footed kick right at his opponent's face. The force of the double blow, combined with Kurdyla's forward momentum, was enough to knock him off his feet and send him splashing tail-first into the spring.

By the time the stars cleared from Kurdyla's sight, Hanchett was sitting comfortably on a fallen tree on the western edge of the clearing, one leg casually crossed over the other.

"Ye're big an' ye're strong, an' I'll give you that ye're pretty fast for a hulking clumsy brute. But you're no soldier. Now, you about ready to stop this dashed silliness, or d' you wanna take some more drubbin'?"

Kurdyla, still standing in the water, turned to face his taunter. "Ye'll find I ain't no peaceful, defenseless player. You won't be leavin' me like you left Browder ... "

"Oh no? Methinks I spy a nice little shiner risin' where my heel met your left eye ... an' I've not yet used my pointy little friend here." Hanchett waved his knife about in front of him with nonchalant grace. "Don't think I won't hesitate t' do so, if you press me."

"So I'm just s'posed to let you run off inta the woods, free as y' please?" Kurdyla snarled, stepping up out of the spring.

"Sounds like a spankin' smart plan to me, chap."

"Mebbe, but not t'day - AAARRGH!" Kurdyla charged at Hanchett yet again, roaring like a madbeast. This time the hare didn't wait until the last moment to make his move. He'd chosen his spot with care, and now leapt high with arms upstretched, grabbing onto a low-hanging limb and swinging himself up into the tangled old rowan above them. He was no squirrel, but he put his powerful hind legs to good use in leaping from one branch to another faster than the otter below could follow. When Hanchett at last dropped back to the ground, he was quite winded ... but so was Kurdyla, and a good dozen paces separated them.

"Had 'nuff, planktail?"

"I'm jus' gettin' warmed up, flopears!"

Hanchett turned and fled into the forest, intent on leading his pursuer on a not-so-merry chase through the trees. The hare was faster and quicker, but the dense woods prevented him from running full-tilt the way he could have on the open meadow or plains, and so the otter was never far behind him. At last, seeing that he wasn't about to shake off Kurdyla anytime soon, Hanchett allowed his adversary to close the gap between them to just a couple of paces, then ground to a halt, crouched low and did an unexpected backflip that carried him clear over Kurdyla's head. Hanchett drew his dagger while he was airborne, lashed out before he'd even landed, and was rewarded with a long, deep gash in the otter's heavy tail. Kurdyla howled and spun around, but Hanchett was already dancing backward to keep a safe distance from his foe.

"Enuff runnin', wot? Let's finish this, Kurdy."

"Sounds good t' me!" Kurdyla grunted, and threw himself at Hanchett with renewed fury. This time, however, he rolled himself into a ball hedgehog-style and aimed himself toward the hare's legs with the intent of knocking them out from under him.

Hanchett, having used such a tactic successfully against a much larger armored badger the summer before, was ready for the assault as soon as he saw Kurdyla going into his headlong crouch. The hare not only deftly sidestepped the hurtling otter but got in another stunning kick to Kurdyla's skull. The larger beast sprawled face-down in the loamy soil with a pained moan, struggling to recover, but before he could, Hanchett leapt atop him and dealt a deep knife slash to the back of first one knee then the other. Kurdyla howled, and Hanchett rolled clear to escape the threatening creature's grabbing claws.

Kurdyla tried to stand, but immediately fell to his knees again. As he repeated this futile attempt several more times, Hanchett casually strolled over to some nearby bushes and wiped his blade clean, replacing it in its belt sheath.

At last Kurdyla fell flat onto his chest, huffing from exertion and pain, unable to tolerate the agony of his injured legs. Hanchett sauntered over to his crippled enemy and lowered his face to almost within arm's reach of the otter.

"Shouldn't have come after me, Kurdy. Nobeast in its right mind hunts a hare of the Long Patrol. Well, you won't be huntin' me anymore, wot? Not sure how much damage I did ya, but I'd say there's a good chance you'll walk again - just not anytime soon."

Kurdyla roared incoherently at Hanchett, pounding at the ground with his massive fists.

"Wot, you wanted me dead? Well, I'll let you in on a little secret, Kurdy chap. I really wouldn't have cared whether you slew me or not - I barely feel like I belong at Redwall anymore these days, or to the Long Patrol. But I've got no other family, nowhere else to go. Killin' me might be th' biggest bally favor anybeast could do me."

"Then come just a liddle closer," Kurdyla challenged in gutteral tones, "an' I'd be happy t' oblige." His thick paws opened and closed in anticipation of getting Hanchett's neck in their grasp.

"P'raps I should, but professional pride prevents me, don'tcha know. Besides, you don't want t' kill me anyway."

"No? Care t' test that theory, hare?"

"Not partic'larly. But, y' see, if you murdered me, our dear ol' Abbess would have no bloomin' choice but to banish you from Redwall fer life." Now Hanchett did lower himself within reach of Kurdyla, until their whiskers almost touched. "An' do y' really s'pose I'm the only hare of the Patrols who'd love to see Browder come t' harm?"

The otter's paws relaxed as understanding flooded his red, rage-filled eyes.

Hanchett stood and stepped back a pace. "So why don'tcha crawl back t' Redwall an' dedicate th' rest o' your days t' playin' guardian to that fink, an' forget about harassin' this hare? I'm sure the Abbess'll letcha have a bed in the Infirmary right alongside him, so you two c'n convalesce in shared misery. Mayhap you'll see me back that way again someday, an' mayhap you won't. Give Browder my regards, Kurdy."

Hanchett turned and went into a sprint. The last Kurdyla saw of the hare through his blurry eyes was the white flash of Hanchett's scut disappearing amongst the trees, and then he was gone.


	5. Chapter 66

Chapter Sixty-Six

Satisfied that she'd helped Mona with Browder as much as she could, Vanessa excused herself from the Infirmary to attend Urthblood's feathered messenger. Melanie stayed at Mizagelle's side, but Colonel Clewiston left his wife and stepdaughter to accompany the Abbess down to Great Hall. Clewiston had, from the time of his arrival at Redwall, considered himself one of the Abbey's chief defenders, and made a point of attending every meeting, council and gathering that pertained to Redwall's security. This was especially the case with anything involving the Badger Lord whom the Long Patrol considered their mortal enemy. Whatever news Klystra had to report, Clewiston most certainly wanted to hear it.

The hare commander fell into step alongside Vanessa as they headed down the hallway toward the stairs. The Abbess wasted neither time nor words in voicing her concerns of the moment.

"Something must be done about Hanchett, Colonel. That hare is totally out of control, between giving Broggen that knife and encouraging him to kill himself, and now this incident with Browder. I realize it can't be easy for any of the Long Patrol, having Browder living among you as a Redwaller, but I was given to understand that you'd ordered all your hares to accept him as a member of our community ... "

"An' so I did, ma'am. But Hanchett, he's a special case, don'tcha know. Not a hare amongst us who was more wounded to the soul by the loss of Lord Urthfist or our defeat at Salamandastron. These things still haunt him, an' he's had a hard time puttin' them behind him an' gettin' on with things. Make no mistake, there's nobeast I'd rather have by my side in a tight squeeze, an' I know in my bones that Hanch would lay down his life for this grand Abbey without a second thought. But as far as continuin' to actshully live here ... I'm afraid th' life of a peaceful Abbeyhare may not be for him."

"Oh, you think not?" Vanessa shot him a sarcastic sideways glance. "In all honesty, I don't see how I _can_ allow Hanchett to live at Redwall after today. He will have to be punished for what he did, you know. And I'm not just talking about a reprimand from you, or extra chores for the remainder of this season. He has willingly committed violence against a fellow Redwaller, and I can think of no way to guarantee that he'll not do so again. There is only one punishment I can conceive of that would fit his actions. I sent Broggen away because he'd proven himself a danger to the creatures living at this Abbey. I can see no other way to treat Hanchett except in the same manner."

Clewiston's ears snapped back as if slapped by an invisible paw. "Abbess, ma'am! You're _not_ comparin' a brave young hare of th' Patrols, who's been through Dark Forest an' back again, to a murderin' stoat?"

"What happened with Broggen and Sister Aurelia was an accident. Hanchett knew exactly what he was doing, even if he was acting in the heat of his anger, and that makes his behavior even more inexcusable, even if nobeast died as a result of his actions. And we cannot even say that for certain, considering that Kurdyla is now out there chasing Hanchett down. That will be a messy situation if those two clash in the deep woods with nobeast to separate them ... "

"That's precisely why I didn't send anybeast after 'em," the Colonel explained. "Neither of those hotheads was in any state t' listen t' reason, an' I knew they'd only hurt anybeast who tried to come between them."

"I suspect you're right, Colonel. But you realize now that if Kurdyla does catch up to Hanchett and harms that hare, then I will have to discipline Kurdyla as well, even if he was acting out of devotion to Browder. This is a mess, and no two ways about it!"

"Wouldn't worry about that, ma'am. Hanchett had a good head start over that waterdog, an' with his hare's speed he's not likely to lose that lead. Besides, in those thick woods he can go to ground just about anywhere he wants an' stay invisible 'til the crows fly home. Trust me, Hanchett won't let himself be found if he doesn't want to be found."

"Then why were you so adamant about not letting anybeast go after Kurdyla?"

"'Cos, in his present state of mind, it wouldn't surprise me t'all if Hanch does let himself be found ... an' he'd not do that unless he was ready to give a bellyful o' grief to anybeast chasin' him."

"You mean he might actually stand his ground against Kurdyla?" Vanessa asked, surprised. "Why, that otter would tie him in knots!"

"Standin' his ground's not exactly an accurate way of puttin' it, Abbess. Every hare of the Patrols knows how to duck an' weave an' hit an' run against superior forces. How d' you suppose just eighty hares an' Lord Urthfist were able t' slay nearly three hundred of Urthblood's fighters at Salamandastron last summer? An' if Traveller had decided t' fight on to th' last hare, we would've taken a lot more of the blighters with us, I can tell you."

"Well then that Traveller had better sense than that, or else there'd only be half as many hares living at Redwall as there are now, and many decent Northland mice and hedgehogs and otters might have died unnecessarily as well."

Clewiston shrugged. "Point is, if Hanchett gets it into his head to go up against Kurdyla, don't assume it's that hare who'll get the worst of it. Then there's always the chance th' two of em'll just kill each other out there. That would solve the problem of how t' punish them, wot?"

"Colonel!"

"Just statin' th' facts, ma'am. It's outta our paws now ... "

The two of them stepped off the stairs onto the floor of Great Hall. Across the cavernous room they could see Clovis and Montybank, along with Wharff and Lekkas, sitting at a table with Klystra and entertaining the falcon. The Abbess and the Colonel greeted the bird - Vanessa warmly and Clewiston with stiff formality - and took seats of their own at the table. Granholm and Fallace and several of the other former slaves scooted aside to make room for the two Abbey leaders. Vanessa smiled at their eagerness to accommodate her.

"Looks like it's time to have Brother Sethburr build us some more tables and benches. Things are getting crowded around here!"

"Not as crowded as they will be, Abbess!" Clovis said with a grin. "Captain Klystra tells us there are more on the way!"

"Aye," Wharff elaborated, "our mateys who were freed from th' searat mill along with us, but went with Lord Urthblood's forces south along th' coast instead o' inland. Well, they're headed here - they wanna settle at Redwall too!"

"Gracious!" Vanessa put a paw to her whiskers. "I guess I did choose the right name for this season when I decided on the Spring of Many Wanderers, didn't I? When may we expect them?"

"Not for another two or three days, at least," replied Lekkas. "Captain Klystra just wanted to give us some advance notice, so we'd not be caught by surprise." The former slavemouse flashed Vanessa a sly and hopeful grin. "Guess this means another feast, huh?"

"I don't see why not. Perhaps Browder will even be well enough to join us for it, although we're still waiting to see whether Hanchett and Kurdyla kill each other out in Mossflower ... "

This sobering reminder of the Abbey's current troubles wiped the smiles off the faces of everybeast at the table. "So Browder is going to be all right?" Clovis inquired, concern knitting her brow.

"Mona seems confident he will be," Vanessa affirmed. "He looks a mess and is in a great deal of discomfort, but none of his injuries are serious. Hanchett apparently only wanted to hurt Browder, not kill him."

"That mad hare!" Clovis said. "Oh, uh, no offense, Colonel. But I do hope Kurdyla will be okay. He was a great help to us in escaping from the searats and getting to Redwall ... "

"Yes," agreed Lekkas. "It would be a shame if those others arrive at the Abbey and Kurdyla's not here to help welcome them."

"Why are they coming to us now?" Vanessa asked. "Where have they been all this time?"

"At Salamandastron," Klystra answered, taking over the tale from the others. In his clipped bird speech, the falcon detailed the coming of the four searat dreadnoughts to the mountain stronghold, the merciless bombardment of that coastal fortress by Tratton's new explosive weapon, and Urthblood's equally merciless destruction of the searat fleet. The Redwallers sat wide-eyed and slack-jawed at the descriptions of such monumental conflict that could leave a mountainside pitted and scarred and four of the largest fighting ships ever built lying ruptured and ruined upon the seabed.

"Y' know," Clewiston ruminated, "a few days ago some of my chaps swore they heard distant claps of thunder, even though there wasn't a cloud to be seen. Must've been those bloomin' blasts, all th' way over th' mountains an' clear across th' Western Plains ... "

"Yes," Klystra said with a nod, "very loud. Hurts ears, shakes bones. Sounded like world coming apart, when ships blew."

"Well, it's good to know Tratton has been dealt such a crushing defeat," said Vanessa, "and I can certainly see why Lord Urthblood didn't want any civilian beasts caught up in all of that. It was very courteous of you to fly all this way to let us know those slaves are on their way here. Now we will be able to make preparations to receive them."

"Running several errands for Lord Urthblood," the falcon said. "Just came from Foxguard, where construction goes well. Before that, Doublegate."

"Doublegate?" several of the Abbeybeasts asked at once. Klystra proceeded to describe the double-walled shrew garrison being erected to the south, where the captured underwater searat vessel was moored. The Redwallers were glad for the news that the Guosim had been by that way, and that Lorr the bankvole dwelt with Urthblood's shrews still.

"Well, that's one friend at least that we can know is safe and well," the Abbess declared. "I don't suppose you happened to sight a stoat and a young mouse, dressed in woodland garb and travelling together, anywhere during your flights?"

"No, Abbess. Did not see that."

"I'm mighty curious 'bout those modificashuns Urthblood wants Lorr t' make on that searat contraption," said Montybank. "Any idea what they are, Cap'n?"

Klystra shook his head. "Just delivered plans, did not read them."

The relative calm of Great Hall was shattered then by the rough opening of the outside doors and many urgent voices. Alexander and Lady Mina strode into the Hall, followed by four of the stoutest squirrels of the Mossflower Patrol, each bearing Kurdyla by one paw. The big otter was conscious but clearly wounded.

"Found him out in the woods on our return sweep," Alex informed Vanessa and the Colonel when they hurried over to greet him. "I gather there's been some trouble during our absence?"

Vanessa nodded. "Browder's up in the Infirmary now, recovering from the beating Hanchett gave him."

"Well, now you've got another patient. Just leg and tail wounds, but they're bad enough to keep him from walking. Hanchett knew just which sinews to cut to hobble Kurdyla. So, what set that hare off anyway?"

"Your guess is as good as mine, Alex. I don't suppose you happened to see Hanchett while you were out there?"

"Nope. He was long gone from the scene by the time we got there. And the way hares can go to ground, we didn't even try to look for him. Figured it was more important to tend Kurdyla's injuries and get him back here."

"You did the right thing, Alex. Thank you for bringing him back right away. It could make the difference between whether or not he's lame for the rest of his life." Vanessa crossed back to Klystra, who had not left his place at the table. "You must excuse me, Captain," she said to the falcon. "It appears I am not finished in the Infirmary today after all."

"Do what you must, Abbess," the bird assented with a polite nod.

"How gracious of him," Clewiston muttered with unmasked sarcasm.

"Come along, Colonel," Vanessa prompted. "As the last beast to speak with Hanchett, Kurdyla's words will no doubt be of great interest to you too."

Clewiston hastened up the stairs with Vanessa, following after the four squirrels and their crippled burden while the other Redwallers looked after them with concern.

00000000000

Cyrus and Winokur were up on the walltop when the squirrels returned with Kurdyla. Brother Geoff's lessons were over for the day, and even though the weather persisted in being gloomily misty and overcast, the two teacher's assistants felt the need to spend some time outdoors after being cooped up all morning with the Abbey's students. And so, once Cyrus finished helping Maura toll the Matthias and Methuselah bells to announce the end of the midday meal and the return to chores for those who had any, the young mouse and otter had climbed to the ramparts for some strolling, some fresh air and some general lazing about against the battlement stone, gazing idly out at the hazy gray-green countryside.

The two student teachers weren't the only ones from that morning's class who'd had such ideas; around on another part of the walltop Maura had her paws full with the full complement of Redwall's children. Budsock was the only absentee, still confined to his dormitory bed on account of his sprained ankle. Metellus was as usual at Maura's side, helping to keep Droge and the other more rambunctious youngsters from running the badger matriarch completely ragged. In spite of his tender seasons, the badgerchild had a natural authority over the other children, and was a great boon to Maura, always keeping his calm and even disposition when his fellow youngbeasts grew disobedient or rowdy.

At Cyrus's urging, he and Winokur staked out a spot on the north walltop where Smallert stood his afternoon sentry rotation. The one-eared weasel often liked to take his lookout duty on the north ramparts, where he could gaze toward the lands of his birth, where he'd first entered Urthblood's service and transformed himself from an irresponsible, no-account ruffian into an upstanding soldierbeast, dedicated to the cause of taming and uniting all the lands under that Badger Lord's firm paw. On this day, however, when they'd heard the commotion of the Mossflower Patrol's return through the east wallgate with Kurdyla, Smallert and his two visitors had rushed around the walkway to see it for themselves. Elmwood, the second-in-command of the Forest Patrol, raced up to the ramparts to inform the lookouts of the latest news, then descended again to rejoin Alex and Mina.

"Wow," Cyrus remarked as they returned to Smallert's designated post, "there sure is a lot happening today! First Hanchett beats up Browder, then Kurdyla chases Hanchett out into Mossflower, and then Captain Klystra comes with all that news, and now this! Too bad we missed half of it, being in class."

"Well, the only thing we really missed was poor Browder gettin' his head handed to him, and I'm just as glad we did," said Winokur. "That's not the kind of thing I need to see ... not that we could have anyway, since Hanchett assaulted Browder in the most secluded part of the orchard where they couldn't even be seen from up here. If Foremole and his garden crew hadn't happened to notice the fight when they did, who knows what state Browder would be in now? Hanchett might have gone all the way and killed him."

"Well, we also missed Captain Klystra's landing," Cyrus pointed out. "That must've been something to see."

"What, an overgrown sparrow settling onto our battlements?" the novice otter joked. "What's so special about that?"

Cyrus poked his larger friend in the ribs. "You're just saying that 'cos you got to see a lot of Klystra and Halpryn last summer when you marched to Salamandastron with Lord Urthblood. For a sheltered Abbeymouse like me, that would have been the high point of most any day!"

"It's not like he vanished as soon as he alighted on our walltop, Cy. You got to hear most of his news during lunchtime along with the rest of us."

That he had, and the young mouse was still agog over all that was happening abroad in the lands these days. The battle along the coast, the building of Foxguard and Doublegate, the impending arrival of yet more liberated slaves on their way to settle at Redwall - it was enough to make his head swim.

"An' as for bloodshed," Winokur went on, "that one look I got at Kurdyla from up here was quite enough for my tastes. Never would've imagined anybeast would be able to get the best of that otter in a fight, not even a hare of the Long Patrol. Hanchett must have been stirred up into a real battle frenzy ... "

Smallert weighed in on their conversation then. "Hanchett ain't been actin' 'imself lately. Started long before today, I can tell ya that."

The two younger creatures looked to Smallert. It was no secret that the weasel had been a frequent companion of Hanchett's during the previous autumn and winter, sharing the taciturn hare's company even when Hanchett had distanced himself from the rest of the Long Patrol. They were curious as to what insight Smallert might have into this situation. "In what way has he been acting strangely?" Winokur asked.

"Well, in midwinter, when Lord Urthblood came to visit," Smallert began, "Hanchett weren't too happy 'bout havin' him here, as I'm sure you c'n unnerstand. But it was after that badger left with his foxes, an' Lady Mina decided t' stay here 'n' pursue her romancin' of Alexander, that Hanch started actin' grimmer than usual, even fer him. Wasn't too noticeable, not back then, but t'was clear he felt like an enemy had moved inta his home."

"But, you and Broggen were already living here," Cyrus said.

"Yeah, but Broggs had left Lord Urthblood's service, an' I'd been booted out in disgrace. We may've been vermin in his eyes, but at least we were Abbeyvermin, who'd given up our fightin' days an' were set on dedercatin' ourselves t' Redwall. Lady Mina might be Alexander's wife now, but her first loyalty's always gonna be to Urthblood, an' Hanchett knows it. Couldn't've made him very happy, somebeast so close t' Urthblood becomin' a Redwaller."

"I never thought about it like that," said Winokur. "But surely he didn't see Lady Mina as an enemy of Redwall, did he? How could she be, after she wed the chief of our squirrels and settled here herself? I mean, she gave up being Gawtrybe royalty up in the Northlands to become Alexander's wife."

"Yeah, but she slew her share o' hares durin' th' battle at Salamandastron, an' Hanch didn't doubt she'd do so again if Lord Urthblood an' th' Long Patrols ever came to blows down th' road."

"Alexander also killed one of the Long Patrol," the young otter reminded Smallert. "Their senior commander on the scene, in fact. If he hadn't, that hare would've slain me."

Smallert nodded. "Yeah, I heard that sad tale. But would Alex even have been up on that mountaintop t' save you if Mina hadn't talked him inta goin' up there with her?"

"I ... I'm not sure."

"Hanchett allers said one of Urthblood's greatest evils was gettin' a Redwaller t' slay Long Patrol. Corruption, Hanch called it. He thought havin' Lady Mina livin' here would make th' Abbey leaders feel like they hadta side with Lord Urthblood, even if it weren't best fer Redwall."

"But, if Hanchett was unhappy about Lady Mina," Cyrus said, confused, "why did he attack Browder?"

"Oh, Lady Mina were just th' start of it, Master Cyrus. Even after she came here last midwinter, me 'n' Hanch would still stand watches or do chores or go on walks t'gether. T'was later, when he learned 'bout th' swordfoxes buildin' their own fortress here in Mossflower, an' then alla Urthblood's shrews started comin' by th' Abbey, that he started shunnin' my company an' avoidin' me. Then, when Browder came an' both th' Abbess an' Colonel Clewiston declared nobeast could lay a paw on him, well, that was th' straw that broke that hare's back. No way Hanchett could abide that, I guess. Mebbe what happened t'day was just a matter o' time ... "

"The Abbess really won't have any choice but to banish him from the Abbey for this," said Winokur. "Assuming we ever see his face around here again, that is."

Cyrus regarded his weasel friend with sympathy. "This must be hard for you, Smallert, losing two of the creatures you were closest to - first Broggen and now Hanchett."

"Broggs deserved his banishment fer what he done, an' I'll shed no tears over that stoat. As fer Hanchett, I really wouldn't say we was close. Just th' opposite, in fact. We spent a lot o' time t'gether, sure, but I got th' feelin' sometimes that was only because Hanch didn't wanna be 'round folks he considered real goodbeasts - either 'cos he didn't feel he was worthy of 'em, or else bein' 'round me made him feel superior, an' I was about the only beast at Redwall he'd see that way."

"What an awful thing to say about yourself!" Winokur gasped.

"Oh, don't get me wrong, Wink, Hanchett never woulda tolerated my company if he didn't see me as decent. But to a hare like him, a goodhearted weasel would still be a fair peg below any woodlander. T'was this difference 'tween us that let us get on so well, I reckon. Naw, th' beast I miss most is Master Cyril. He's th' one I'm hopin' comes back 'fore too much longer."

"You don't think Hanchett would cause Cyril and Broggen any trouble, do you?" Cyrus asked with a trace of worry.

Smallert shook his head. "Those two're prob'ly so far away that not even a trackerbeast of Hanchett's skill could pick up their scent. 'Sides, I'll wager they're prob'ly th' last thing on that hare's mind right now. Hanch has got bigger fish t' fry ... an' a lot closer t' home, too."

00000000000

The gray afternoon was fading to an overcast spring twilight by the time Mona finished treating Kurdyla's wounds.

Vanessa stayed in the Infirmary the entire time, not wanting to leave the injured otter solely to Mona, although in truth the healer vixen had the situation well in paw. Mona knew a number of different herbal recipes for concoctions that would put a beast fast asleep, and had already used one on Browder, who lay snoring gently as Mizagelle sat attentively at his bedside. His ribs had been bandaged, the blood washed from his face, salves applied to his swellings and bruises, and his torn ear stitched back together and wrapped with a poultice to speed healing. Browder's array of hurts alone would have been more than enough to keep the Infirmary staff busy on any ordinary day. And then had come Kurdyla on top of that.

Mona actually had to feed Kurdyla the sleeping potion before getting to work on the big otter. The slash on his thick tail was relatively minor, requiring just a few stitches and a herbal wrap overlay. But the wounds to the back of his knees were in an entirely different class, and called for the kind of treatment that had not been seen at Redwall since the previous summer when Machus had employed startlingly new surgical techniques to save young Cyrus.

True to Hanchett's prediction, Kurdyla was placed in a bed alongside Browder's. The burly otter lay there now in the soft lamplight, eyes closed and knees heavily bandaged.

Mona turned to Vanessa, wiping her tired paws clean on a kerchief. "His injuries were actually more severe than Browder's, even if they didn't look as nasty. Nothing life-threatening, but he might very well have never walked again if he'd not been given the proper attention. I used vegetable fibers to sew the severed sinews behind his knees back together, and with a few days' bedrest they should start to knit on their own. But I fear it may be well toward summer before he can get back on his feet. If he tries to stand or walk too soon, it could undo all our work, and he'd be no better off than if I'd never treated him at all."

"I'll help to impress that upon him," said Vanessa. "It won't be easy for such a strong and energetic beast as Kurdyla to stay abed for so long, but if he hears it from both of us, that should do the trick. As much as he'll disdain enforced bedrest for that length of time, I'm sure he'd still prefer that to a lifetime as an invalid. The method you used for reconnecting the tendons and ligaments was nothing I had ever heard of before. Are you certain it will be effective?"

"I have used the technique many times in the Northlands, to mend the legs of soldiers maimed in battle who otherwise might have spent the rest of their seasons as cripples. If Kurdyla heeds our counsel, he should be as good as new by midsummer, if not sooner."

"Well, I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't been here, Mona. I would have had my paws full enough with Browder, and I certainly couldn't have done the work on Kurdyla that you did. You've been kept busy enough up here today for three beasts. And you never even had any lunch, did you?"

"Sister Orellana brought me up some spicebread and mushroom gravy pasties while I was tending Browder, after you'd gone down to receive Captain Klystra. From what you've told me, it certainly sounds as if that falcon was full of news."

"That he was," Vanessa nodded. "But you'll be able to ask him anything you want yourself. It's nearly dinnertime, and you must be dead on your footpaws. Let's get you down to Great Hall, where you can sit with Captain Klystra and get a real meal into you."

Mona gave several exaggerated, slowly rolling shrugs to work out her muscle kinks. "It's my back and shoulders that are complaining the most, Abbess. If there was any way to squeeze two nights' sleep into one, I'd surely take it this night! What I would really welcome right now even more than a meal is a massage, if you happen to know anybeast who has a good touch with such things?"

Mizagelle spoke up from Browder's bedside. "Why, I've been called a fair touch with my paws when it comes to knotted muscles, wot? I'd be more'n happy to give you the best ol' backrub you've had in ten seasons. Least I can do t' show my honest gratitude fer the bang-up job you did on my banged-up hubby here."

Vanessa smiled. "I was going to recommend Montybank, but it seems you've already got a more immediate volunteer."

"Thank you, Mizagelle," Mona said to the harewife.

"Don't thank me yet. Been a while since I last practiced my flesh-kneadin' craft, so I hope I don't leave you worse off than you started." Mizagelle regarded vixen and mouse. "My gratitude to you both, for all you've done. It means a lot to me, knowin' Browder's got such talented healerbeasts lookin' after him."

"I couldn't have done otherwise," the vixen replied. "If a wounded or sick creature is brought to me, it's my duty to treat it the best I can."

"What Mona means to say, I'm sure, is you're very welcome, Mizzy," said Vanessa with a benevolent smile.

Many of the former slaves who'd been liberated from the searats along with Kurdyla now clogged the corridor outside the Infirmary, anxiously awaiting any word on their otter friend's condition. They'd originally flooded into the sick bay in Kurdyla's wake, and Vanessa had had to order Alexander's squirrels to clear them all out so that she and Mona would have the elbow room they needed to work.

Now there was a minor commotion among the well-wishers, and the small crowd parted to allow Abbot Arlyn into the Infirmary. "Oh, Vanessa ... Mona ... I hear you two have had quite a lot on your paws up here today ... "

"You could say that," Vanessa chuckled. "I decided not to disturb you, since we could see the smoke coming out of the gatehouse cottage chimney. I know how you cherish your fireside naps on such dreary days as this. I hope you don't mind."

"Mind? Um, no, uh, I suppose not," the old mouse stammered. "But I do feel a bit chagrined, napping away the whole day while so much was going on right here inside Redwall. I swear, one of these days I'm going to awake to find the Abbey's fallen down around my whiskers while I was snoozing!"


	6. Chapter 67

Chapter Sixty-Seven

Only the most persistent coaxing by Vanessa and the other Abbey leaders persuaded Klystra to spend the night at Redwall. The falcon had planned on being off before nightfall to rejoin the former slaves making their way across the Western Plains, but reconsidered when Vanessa pointed out that this delay would give Friar Hugh the extra time to prepare a sack of provisions Klystra could deliver to the hungry travellers. And so a roaring blaze was lit in Great Hall's enormous fireplace, before which was arrayed a spread of blankets to serve as the large bird's bednest for the night.

A less dedicated creature might have been tempted to surrender to such comfort and sleep well past sunrise, but Klystra roused himself before dawn's first light so that he could be off as soon as the first gray tinges began to brighten the sky. While the kitchen staff went into full swing preparing breakfast for the soon-to-be-waking Redwallers, Klystra mounted the steps to the high walltop above the main gate - a logical launching point for his flight into the misty west.

Many from the first group he'd helped escort to Redwall arose early to see him off. Wharff carried the canvas bag of food and drink up to the ramparts for his birdfriend, while Clovis, Lekkas, Granholm and several of the other former slaves followed after the otter. Arlyn was there to represent to Abbey leaders for Klystra's departure; the old mouse had become an early riser since his retirement, and Vanessa's hard work in the Infirmary the day before had earned her the right to sleep until a decent hour of the morning.

The falcon hopped up onto the battlements and took the provision sack from Wharff in one mighty talon. The sky above their heads shone with the silvery evenness of the coming day, while behind them to the east the first rosy blush of dawn lit the horizon over the treetops. A fresh breeze stiff enough to ruffle fur and feathers blew out of the north, and the clear air promised a day of blue heavens and unclouded sun very different from the previous gloomy one.

"It's too bad Browder and Kurdyla couldn't be here," Clovis lamented. "I'm sure they would have both wanted to wish you well. We all owe you a lot, Captain, and we'll never forget that. You have warned the others who are on their way here about the Flitch-aye-aye, haven't you?"

"Steering them clear of there," Klystra confirmed. "They come over mountains to south anyway, so no danger from that."

"Will we be seeing you again when these last of the slaves get here?" Clovis asked.

Klystra shook his head. "Must return to Salamandastron soon. Lord Urthblood waits for reports." The falcon turned to Arlyn, and hefted the considerable haversack of foodstuffs. "Many thanks for these. Will be appreciated."

"You're most welcome. Whenever we can help out honest travellers, we're always more than happy to do so. And if they're going to be settling here at the Abbey anyway, we may as well give them a foretaste of what they can expect once they arrive!"

"If they follow our example," laughed Granholm, "it will hardly be their last taste! I've enjoyed so much Redwall fare since getting here, I have to stay off the slimmer branches whenever I go out with the Forest Patrol, out of fear that they'll snap under my weight!"

"Aye, Granny," Wharff concurred, "I know just what y' mean. There's been times I've gone fer a swim an' I swore I was gonna sink right t' th' bottom of yon Abbey pond!"

"Yes, there's never any shortage of food here at Redwall," Arlyn agreed. "Although, when we had both the Long Patrols and the Guosim living with us last winter, there were times when we thought we might see one!"

"Until I fly this way again ... farewell!" Klystra turned to face the quiet plains, spread his impressive wings, and propelled himself from the outer battlements, the filled haversack dangling from one claw. The weighty supplies scarcely seemed to drag at him at all, and within moments the falcon Captain was across the path and out over the Western Plains, winging his way to rendezvous with the eastbound journeyers.

The assembled Abbeybeasts stood for awhile, watching Klystra dwindle into the gray distance, then headed back down the wall stairs, their heads filled with thoughts of their old companions in slavery with whom they would soon be reunited.

Arlyn lagged behind the others, taking his time as he so often did with things these days. As he stood there at the top of the wallsteps, his idle gaze happened to travel across the grounds to the east walltop opposite him, and thence beyond it to the brightening sky above the forest horizon.

The old Abbot stopped and looked again. There, silhouetted against the pearl-and-crimson fires of the not-yet-risen sun, stood ... something. Or at least Arlyn thought he saw something, although his old eyes could very well have been mistaken. The lighting conditions were hardly ideal, after all, and there had never been anything rising above the treetops out that way before.

At last the aroma of breakfast seduced Arlyn's nose into leading him down from the walltop. As he picked his way down the stone stairs, an image persisted in his mind of a truncated spire peeking at him over the fastness of Mossflower. He decided that he would go back up to the east ramparts after breakfast, when the day was a little fuller and his aged vision might not be so easily deceived. Whatever it was - if it was anything at all - it could surely wait until after he'd put some of Friar Hugh's delicious food into his rumbling belly.

00000000000

"Abbess, I ... I think you'd better come see this."

Vanessa glanced up from where she sat with Mona and Arlyn at the head table in Great Hall, enjoying a late breakfast of apple fritters and honeycream pears after checking on Browder and Kurdyla for the morning. The beast begging her attention was none other than Elmwood, who by all rights should have been outside on the walltop, since this was his morning to take lookout duty. His very presence here spoke of things not being as they should.

"Is something wrong, Elmwood?" Vanessa inquired, the spoon raised halfway to her lips forgotten for the moment.

"I'll leave that for you to decide, Abbess," the squirrel said hesitantly. "It's not an emergency. At least, we don't think it is ... but since we've never seen anything like it, and we're not even sure what we're looking at, it's kinda hard to say for sure."

Vanessa lowered her untasted bit of pear, trading a puzzled glance with Arlyn. "Well, that's certainly enough of a mystery to pique my interest. Mona, why don't you head back up to the Infirmary to keep an eye on our two patients while I go investigate this ... "

"With all due respect, Abbess," Elmwood cut in, his gaze going to Mona, "I think she oughta come with us too. We don't know what to make of it, but maybe she will."

"Now this _is_ intriguing." The healer vixen smiled, ignoring the mild tones of suspicion in the squirrel's voice. Mona rose from her seat at Vanessa's right paw. "Shall we, Abbess?"

Mouse and fox left their breakfast places to follow Elmwood outside. After a moment's consideration, Arlyn decided to tag along after them, an expression of deep contemplation upon his features. "Could it be ... ?" he mumbled to himself.

Elmwood led them across the lawns to the east wall and up the stairs to the ramparts overlooking Mossflower. When they reached the walltop they found a small crowd of Abbeybeasts gathered along the battlements, each and every one of them straining their vision to the limit as they stared eastward. The rest of the walltop walkway had been abandoned; every mouse, squirrel, otter and hare on sentry duty this morning had gravitated to this spot to share in this mystery that the new day had presented them.

"Well?" Vanessa prompted. "What are we looking at?"

The young otter Brydon started the explanations. "Well, marm, I had th' station over on this stretch o' the walkway, an' I happened t' be lookin' out over th' forest when I spotted sumthin' I couldn't account fer. Now, us otters may be th' best at seein' underwater, but when it come t' makin' out details over far distances I'm 'fraid we're little better'n moles. So, I called out fer some hare an' squirrel eyes t' scope out what I thought I saw."

Sergeant Peppertail, the senior of the two Long Patrol hares assigned to the walltop that morning, picked up the tale. "That's when Telemaque an' me came bustlin' our scuts around t' this side to see wot was wot. That's when we saw ... well, that."

Vanessa followed the line of Peppertail's pointing paw, across the treetops to the distant horizon ... or at least she tried to, but ended up squinting in frustration. "Yah! The sun's shining right in my eyes! How were any of you able to see anything out that way?"

"It's a tough field o' sight, t' be sure, marm," Brydon agreed. "Just put yore paw up t' block out th' worst o' th' glare, an' ye'll see it ... "

She followed the otter's advice, as did Mona and Arlyn, and found that it did indeed make a difference. "Yes ... yes, I do see it now. That certainly wasn't there the last time I was up here, but ... what _is_ it?"

"A building," said Sergeant Peppertail.

"Foxguard," Elmwood elaborated, throwing another sharp glance Mona's way. "Naught else it could be."

"Foxguard?" Vanessa repeated in puzzlement, looking from Arlyn to Mona and back to Elmwood again. "We have seen the architectural plans for Foxguard, and it was designed as a low, ring-shaped structure, three stories tall. Whatever that is out there, it would have to be at least twice that tall to show above the treetops."

"Then they must have changed plans." The squirrel bore a gaze into Mona. "What say you, M'Lady? Do you know what Urthblood and your fox kin are trying to pull here?"

The vixen seemed as surprised and taken aback as anybeast there. "I have never seen the plans for Foxguard, nor has the layout for that fortress ever been described to me. I have only been assured that it will be a stronghold fitting for the heirs of Machus, and a boon to the safety and security of central Mossflower - a companion to Redwall, to aid in the defense of these lands. You folk seem to know more about the particulars of its construction than I ever did."

"Yes, but all that aside," said Vanessa, "why are we just seeing it now? Surely it was there yesterday, and the day before ... and our Sparra have been flying over the Foxguard site on a regular basis. They never reported anything that would stand above the trees ... "

"It may have been several days since any sparrows last flew out that way," Elmwood pointed out. "And as for the view from these ramparts, we wouldn't have been able to see much beyond an arrow's flight yesterday in that gray and gloomy mist. If Urthblood's beasts are working as fast as we suspect they probably can, they could have pushed whatever they're building from below the forest horizon to above it in just two days. We wouldn't have seen anything the last time the weather was clear."

"Perhaps," Vanessa said. "But that still doesn't tell us what it is, or what it's doing there at all ... "

Brydon squinted into the morning sunglare. "Shame we ain't got one o' those nifty far-seein' toys o' Urthblood's ... "

"Oh, we have something much better than that," Vanessa declared. "Brydon, please go down and find Cyrus and Maura, and tell them to sound the toll that will summon Highwing to us ... "

00000000000

The Abbess wasted no time in dispatching Highwing to investigate this unknown anomaly on the forest horizon. Before departing from the Abbey, however, the Sparra leader decided to consult with his fellow birds to see if any light might be shed on this mystery.

Highwing presently swooped back down from Warbeak Loft to the east walltop where Vanessa and the others stood waiting. "Rafter and Sourbill were the last ones to fly over Foxguard," the senior sparrow reported, "and that was four or five days ago - they weren't sure which. They concur that the central portion of the structure appeared to be three or four stories tall. But, they also admit that they passed over the site at a high altitude and did not fly low for a closer look. Thus, since they were only looking straight down at it from a considerable height, they concede that it could have been taller - perhaps five or six stories."

"Even five or six stories wouldn't be enough to make it show above the canopy at this distance," said Elmwood. "Would have to be more like eight or ten."

"Why, that'd be tall as th' highest roofpeak here at Redwall!" declared Brydon.

"That's not what concerns me most," Vanessa said. "Highwing, are you sure Rafter and Sourbill definitely specified the 'center of the structure?' Because there's not supposed to _be_ anything at the center of that fortress. The plans for Foxguard that Tolar showed us indicated a ring-shaped building with an open courtyard in the middle ... "

"They were both in agreement about that particular detail, Abbess. The tallest section of this new edifice appears to be rising from the center of the foundation."

"It would seem," said Arlyn, "that they have changed their plans without consulting us."

"Or else they never shared the true plans with us to begin with," Vanessa added. "Well, we won't count on Andrus or Tolar or any of those foxes to tell us what's going on there anymore. Highwing, would you please be so kind as to fly out there with two or three of your Sparra and take a closer look for us? And maybe ask Andrus a few pointed questions about why the plans he showed us last winter differ so dramatically from what is going up on that site now ... "

"Of course, Abbess." Highwing bobbed his head. "It would be my pleasure. We'll leave at once."

As her old Sparra friend flapped up toward the high Abbey roofspaces once more, Vanessa sighed. "Well, at least now we know why that 'empty courtyard' had such a heavily-braced foundation on those plans Tolar shared with us ... "

00000000000

It was lunchtime before the Sparra returned from their surveillance mission. Vanessa, eager to receive the birds' findings at the earliest possible moment, took her midday meal up on the east ramparts, in the company of her fellow Abbey leaders. All of Redwall was in a mild uproar over this latest development, and most every Abbeybeast had spent some time up on the walltop that morning staring out at this newest unexpected addition to Mossflower. Brother Geoff found it impossible to keep his pupils' attention in the face of such excitement, and finally ended up canceling lessons for rest of the day. This left all the Abbey's children - including the fully-mended Budsock - in Maura's paws, spelling a busy day indeed for the badger matriarch.

But the youngsters were hardly the only ones shirking their responsibilities. For the second day in a row many of the Abbey chores lay ignored, or were only performed at a fraction of their usual pace as curious Redwallers slipped away from their duties to sneak up to the walltop or just speculate amongst themselves as to what this unanticipated revelation portended. Vanessa ended up ordering all nonessential creatures off the ramparts so that she and the other Abbey leaders could be left in peace.

The distant stub of red sandstone masonry now stood clearly and unmistakably visible above the green horizon, plainly evident not just to sharp-eyed hare and squirrel but to mouse, otter, mole and hedgehog as well, young and old alike. In the dazzling spring sunshine, the distant construct fairly glowed like the tip of a red paw finger pointing skyward.

"I say," remarked Colonel Clewiston as he nibbled idly at a leek and carrot pastie, "unless it's my bally imagination, I do believe that monstrosity's gotten noticeably taller since I first clamped peepers on it this mornin' ... "

"Don't think it's your imagination, Colonel, or your eyes playing tricks on you," Alexander affirmed, joining the Long Patrol commander in gazing over the battlements toward Foxguard (for by now they had all concluded that this was what the unknown structure must be). "I do believe it has grown by just a fraction since sunrise. Those workerbeasts must be laboring like mad to be erecting that tower so quickly!"

"Yes, how could such a thing even be possible?" Geoff wondered.

Foremole weighed in with his expert opinion. "Burr hurr, if'n all ee stone be cuttered 'n' shaped a'ead o' toime, loik Maister Tolar told uz, all Lord H'Urthblood's molers 'ave to do's cerment ee blocks in place."

"But, if it's such a tall tower," said Geoff, "how are they getting all those heavy blocks up to the top in the first place?"

"Prob'ly why Urthblood has so many otters an' shrews there," Montybank supposed, "t' help lug them stones around ... "

"Nay, zurr," Foremole begged to differ. "Oi 'spect they'm's a-usin' winchers mounted on crossbeams laid 'cross ee top. Crank ee 'andle, an' oop cums ee stone to wurr et be needed."

"But the fact remains that it's still inarguably a tower," said Vanessa. "A tower, where there's no business being one. I think our new neighbors have a lot of explaining to do."

"It was a case of out-an'-out deception, plain 'n' simple," Clewiston maintained. "An' did you honestly expect anything else from those treacherous brushtails, ma'am? Been sayin' all along they can't be trusted, not them or the big red bully who's pullin' their strings, an' now they've proven it for all to see. Foxes will always be foxes, an' no mistake!"

"I'm glad Mona is up in the Infirmary looking after Browder and Kurdyla, and not here to hear you disparage her entire species, Colonel," Vanessa said with a trace of reproach. "After the way she worked yesterday to heal two of our own, she deserves our sincere gratitude, not words of suspicion or condemnation."

"Hear hear, Abbess!" Lady Mina applauded. "Mona has proven herself by deed to be a friend of Redwall, and I've no doubt the same will prove true of Andrus and his swordfoxes. And quite frankly it galls me to hear the Colonel casting such aspersions on others when one of his own hares behaved so reprehensibly yesterday."

"Hanchett violated every code of Long Patrol conduct as well as the rules of Redwall behavior, my good Lady, and will be dealt with accordingly if and when he ever shows his bobtail 'round here again," Clewiston said stiffly. "World o' difference 'tween a lone renegade hare an' a possibly hostile army buildin' their blinkin' fortress right next door, wot?"

"Andrus and his foxes are about as hostile to Redwall as I am!" Mina asserted.

"Hope you didn't mean that as a reflection of yer character, ma'am. Pays t' mind wotbeast you go 'round comparin' yourself to, don'tcha know - 'specially since your fox friends are practicin' such deceptive habits."

Mina looked to Vanessa. "We don't know for certain that Andrus and Tolar sought to deceive us, Abbess. Lord Urthblood has been keeping in communication with Foxguard through his birds, as we have just seen with Klystra. It could very well be that he ordered an alteration of the plans sometime this past season, adding the tower after Tolar had shown us the schematics last winter."

"Then why," asked Arlyn, "was the basement beneath the central courtyard so heavily buttressed and reinforced in those renderings?" The retired Abbot shook his head. "No, Mina, I can only think that this tower was always intended to be a part of Foxguard. Foremole himself said that design was meant to support a massive weight, and Lorr concurred. Those are the two beasts who would know."

"If I recall correctly," Mina countered, "Tolar said that design was in case Lord Urthblood ever decided to expand or add on to Foxguard. Well, isn't that all this really is? I mean, it's Urthblood's fortress, after all. If he wants to add a tower to it, that's within his rights."

"I'm sorry, Mina," said Vanessa, "but to me this fits a pattern of deception and obfuscation that we have seen before. I am uneasily reminded of the ploy Urthblood used last summer that put Redwall in the middle of a feud between him and his brother. I will not allow this Abbey to be placed in the middle of anything else to suit Urthblood's aims."

"Lord Urthblood is the greatest friend and ally Redwall has," Mina said, jutting out her chin. "And if this Abbey ever finds itself in the midst of a crisis, you will be glad to have him on your side."

"With friends like that ... " Clewiston snorted, leaving the obvious sentiment unfinished.

Further verbal sparring between the Long Patrol commander and the Gawtrybe squirrel was forestalled by the return of the Sparra. While his escorts flew straight back up to Warbeak Loft, Highwing settled onto the battlements adjacent to all the Abbey leaders.

Vanessa went right over to him. "So, what did you find?"

"It appears," the sparrow said, "that despite what those foxes led us to believe last winter, the center of Foxguard will not be an empty courtyard at all, but a tower of rather stupendous proportions."

"And what, if anything, did Andrus have to say about this?" Vanessa asked.

"He offered his sincerest regrets that he could not have been more forthcoming with you when you inquired about his intentions previously, but both he and Lord Urthblood were of the opinion that Redwall might actively oppose the construction of Foxguard if its true dimensions were made known to you from the beginning."

Clewiston shot Lady Mina a clear "I-told-you-so" glance.

"Its true dimensions, huh?" said Vanessa. "They might not have been such a shock to us if this surprise hadn't been sprung on us like this. Or did Andrus suppose the trees would hide his tower from us?"

"Quite the contrary, Abbess. I am given to understand that the tower is still only a fraction of its eventual height."

This statement caused everybeast present to gape at the Sparra in disbelief. "Just how tall will it be when it's finished?" Arlyn asked.

"Well, you remember the first time I flew out to the quarry when Andrus gave me a personal tour," said Highwing, "and I told you they were excavating enough stone to build another Redwall? It appears I was not exaggerating the case as much as we all may have believed. According to Andrus now, they will keep building this tower until they see the signal to halt from Salamandastron."

"You mean, when Urthblood sends one of his birds to tell them to stop?" Vanessa clarified.

"No, Abbess, that is not what I mean. Lord Urthblood is going to send some kind of signal from the top of Salamandastron itself. A bonfire, perhaps - Andrus wasn't specific. But that tower will not be finished until the plateau of that seaside mountain is visible from its summit."

"A direct line of sight between Salamandastron and the heart of Mossflower?" Alex gaped. "That's ... that's incredible!"

Clewiston was less than thrilled by this revelation. "An' a direct line o' sight means direct line o' communication, too, since that bloody badger an' his cronies have no doubt got some kinda code worked out that'll let 'em flash messages to each other. Especially if they use those long-distance peepin' tubes o' theirs. I don't like this. I don't like this one bit."

"Even with a long glass," said Mina, "to see Salamandastron at all from that distance, that tower's going to have to be unimaginably tall."

Highwing nodded. "Yes, Lady. Andrus estimated that Foxguard's tower will be several times the height of Redwall's tallest roof peak when it is completed. It is intended as a watchtower over all of Mossflower. From its observation deck one will be able to see to both the eastern and western seas, southward almost to Southsward, and northward almost to the true Northlands. Andrus said it will allow Lord Urthblood to know what is going on anywhere in Mossflower at any given moment, and enable him to respond to any crisis much more quickly than he can now."

"I'll say," huffed Clewiston, "an' it'll give those brushtails a view right over our walls an' straight down into our grounds. With those flippin' spyglasses of theirs, they'll prob'ly be able to see wot's on th' bally menu of every picnic we have out on th' lawns this summer! Good way fer His Bloodiness t' keep tabs on us, whether we want him to or not."

"Good neighbors watch out for each other," Mina shot back at the Colonel. "Personally, I find the idea of such a watchtower very comforting, and ... Alex, what are you smirking at?"

Her husband gave a shrug. "If there ever comes a time when you and our good Colonel aren't trading verbal jabs over something or other to do with Urthblood, I think I'd almost miss it!"

"But back to the matter at paw," Vanessa interjected. "If Foxguard is going to be so immense, surely they can't still expect to have it completed by early summer, can they?"

"In fact, they can," Highwing assured her. "Andrus even told me that they are ahead of schedule. He showed me revised plans which include the tower. It is not wide at all - just a central shaft with a continuous spiral staircase winding around it. There are no rooms or chambers, just one long flight of stairs leading up to the observation deck at the top. With such a simple design and construction crews working day and night, they are adding the equivalent of one to two stories to its height each day."

"That explains how it seems to have grown since daybreak," Geoff said, gazing uneasily out over the battlements toward the unfinished watchtower peeking at them above the treetops.

"Andrus anticipates having the tower and main fortress finished by the end of this season," Highwing went on. "Then they will begin on the outer wall. And once again, Abbess, he extends an invitation for us to come visit Foxguard anytime we wish, once construction is completed."

"Oh, he does, does he?" Vanessa licked the crumbs from her hazelnut and white cheese scone off her whiskers and daintily yet firmly wiped her paws clean. "Well, he'll be most gratified to know that we will certainly take him up on his invitation ... and most disconcerted that we are not about to wait until summer to do so. Friends, I think it is high time that we pay a visit to Foxguard!"


	7. Chapter 68

Chapter Sixty-Eight

Vanessa wasted no time in organizing the expedition across the River Moss. Shortly after lunch she asked most of the Abbey leaders to join her for an informal council down in Cavern Hole.

"We are sending a delegation to Foxguard to take a look at what is going on there for ourselves," she began with renewed purpose. "Since hearing Highwing's report, I have been mulling over how many we should send, and which beasts would be best suited to the message we want to send to Andrus."

"And just what message would that be, Abbess?" Mina inquired.

"That they've jolly well gotta stop wot they're doin'!" Clewiston declared before Vanessa could reply. "We can't have that red eyesore castin' its shadow all over these fair woodlands of ours! It's intimidation, plain as day an' no two bally ways about it! And we won't stand for it!"

The Abbess held up a paw before Mina could voice her inevitable retort. "Please, no sniping, you two. We're not going to decide anything like that here right now. Then again, with that tower going up at such an astounding pace, we won't have much time if we do decide to intervene. The simple fact is that we have been misled and deceived on a matter that directly concerned us, and on which we should have been consulted at every turn. And I think we are owed an explanation for this."

"With all due respect, Abbess," said Mina, "I think your own words show clearly enough why Andrus and Lord Urthblood might have been reluctant to share the full scope of their designs with you. They must have feared that you would react just as you are. I mean, 'if we do decide to intervene?' Just how would you go about doing that anyway?"

"Keep your shirt on, My Lady. All I am saying is that it would have been respectful of Urthblood to ask our opinion on these matters before he went ahead with them. We didn't even know about Foxguard until we saw that he had reopened the quarry, and was already well underway with mining and cutting the stone for this project."

"And what if he had consulted you, and you did not approve of his proposal?" Mina challenged. "I have worked with Lord Urthblood for many seasons, and I know his methods. Foxguard represents a huge investment of his beastpower and skilled labor. He would not have committed himself to such a project if he did not feel it was necessary ... which means he'd be building Foxguard now with or without your blessing. Lord Urthblood does not brook interference in his major endeavors. Would you really have wanted to put yourself in the position of opposing him on a matter where he would not stand for opposition?"

Vanessa regarded the Gawtrybe Lady sternly. "I do not care for what you seem to be suggesting, Mina."

"My apologies, Abbess - I did not mean to suggest anything, so let me state the situation more clearly. If, as I suspect, Lord Urthblood feels strongly enough about the need for Foxguard, he will send an army into Mossflower if that is what it takes to get it built."

"You honestly think he would use force against Redwallers if we tried to halt construction?" Vanessa stared at the squirrel. Alexander, seated alongside his wife at the table, seemed distinctly uncomfortable by the direction this conversation had taken, but too curious as to where it would lead to intercede in any way.

"That would depend entirely upon how forcefully you tried to interfere with the construction of Foxguard." Mina's gaze went to Clewiston. "Although, as the Colonel here can attest firstpaw, Lord Urthblood has ways of pacifying beasts without harming them."

"Ah, an' there you have it!" Clewiston slapped the tabletop. "She just admitted he'd use on Redwallers the same treacherous stuff he used on us at Salamandastron last summer t' steal it away from its rightful owners!"

"He would be well within his rights to use the Flitchaye gas within his own construction site on trespassers who seek to halt or undo his work." Mina glanced around the table. "And I sincerely hope there are no such creatures seated among us here."

Vanessa swallowed before speaking. "It galls me that all decisions in this matter were taken out of our paws. It galls me that Urthblood did not mention so much as a single word about Foxguard when he and his swordfoxes were our guests last winter. And it galls me that when we finally did learn of it, we were shown altered architectural plans whose sole purpose was to mislead us. This all prompts me to say that Urthblood is up to his old tricks again, and the feelings that instills in me are not pleasant ones."

"Abbess, you sound as if you're ready to go to war over this ... over a tower. Think about it: yesterday you knew Foxguard was being built, you knew Lord Urthblood's swordfoxes were going to be settling into their own stronghold here in Mossflower, and you seemed quite accepting of this arrangement. Today, you discover that a tower has been added to the design of that fortress. All this fuss over a tower ... just an architectural feature. Have things really changed that much since yesterday?"

It was Arlyn who answered. "Yes, they have, Mina. This is not about a tower. It is about a pattern. We were never told about Foxguard itself in the beginning; we had to find out about it on our own. Then, we were never told about the tower; that too we found out about on our own, when it grew too tall to remain hidden by the forest. With a history of withholding and deception like that, we can't help but wonder what might come to light next that is being concealed from us now?"

"Abbess, whatever you may think of their methods and manners, these foxes are not your enemies. I would stake my life on that."

"No need for that, Mina." Vanessa smiled. "At least, I hope not. But even you must concede that these events have at the very least earned us the right to go to Foxguard and have a look around for ourselves?"

"Highwing has already been there today," said Mina. "Andrus let him have a good look at everything. How will any further looks benefit you?"

"We'll see about that when we get there," Vanessa stated simply. "Now, let us look to the composition of this delegation. We'll want a couple of otters along, in case those foxes play anymore games with moving our ferry raft back and forth across the River Moss. And there are some of Urthblood's Northland otters among the construction crew, so they might be more inclined to be forthcoming with others of their own species. Monty, I'd like you to be a part of this excursion; your authority as Redwall's Skipper should carry enough weight to get us some straight answers. Chose one other otter to accompany you, and that should be satisfactory for that component of our entourage."

"Aye, Nessa." Monty turned to Brother Geoff. "If'n you reckon you could spare yore assistant fer a few days, I'd like t' bring Wink along. He seems to've struck up a friendship steadfast an' true with that young fox Roxroy, an' I'm shore those two'd enjoy seein' each other agin. Might soothe over some frazzled nerves an' ruffled fur hackles, if they see we've come fer friendship's sake as well as t' poke our nose inta their business ... "

"That's a very good idea," the Recorder mouse agreed. "I can certainly excuse Winokur from his duties in class and the archives for such a worthy cause."

"So Monty and Winokur will represent Redwall's otters on this venture," said Vanessa, sealing the arrangement with her official Abbess's sanction. "And I think it will also help that Winokur is a novice of our order as well, and has previously travelled with Urthblood's forces as an envoy of the Abbey and an emissary of peace. Some at Foxguard may remember him from Salamandastron. A better choice you could not have named, Monty.

"Now, as to the matter of squirrels ... " Vanessa looked to Alex and Mina. "Lady, you are clearly Urthblood's most ardent supporter at this table, and you have a relationship with some of those foxes that goes back many seasons. But, for all that you have spoken in their defense at this council, I can't help but sense that you yourself are somewhat perturbed by your pointed exclusion from these events Lord Urthblood has set in motion in Mossflower. And when Tolar showed us those false plans last winter, that deception was as much against you as the rest of us. I think it only fair that you have the opportunity to demand an explanation from Tolar - and from Andrus himself - face to face. Your rather unique position - Gawtrybe royalty, sworn ally of Urthblood's, _and_ a Redwaller by marriage, sworn to uphold the best interests of this Abbey - lead me to believe that you will be more even-pawed in these matters than your words here might indicate. Thus, while I am sending Alex to Foxguard to represent Redwall's squirrels and the Forest Patrol, I would like you to accompany him, to serve as devil's advocate if nothing else."

"I will gladly do as you ask, Abbess," Mina said with a nod, "and commend you for your wisdom and fairness as well."

"But, Vanessa," Alexander put in, "Monty and I are Redwall's two chief defenders. Are you sure it's a good idea to have both of us away from the Abbey at the same time?"

"These days we are fortunate indeed to have so many able-bodied creatures living among us," Vanessa answered. "With our Sparra making their daily flights out from the Abbey and our constant rotations of walltop sentries, I think it's safe to say that no foe will catch us unaware. You two will be leaving practically your entire strength of squirrels and otters here. And let us not forget all the recent arrivals to our home - goodbeasts like Lekkas, Granholm and Wharff who would gladly lend a paw in times of trouble. And then, of course, we have the Long Patrol ... "

Vanessa turned to Clewiston. "Colonel, I would prefer that you yourself remain at Redwall for just such reasons as Alex brought up, but I would like you to name at least two of your hares to join our inspection of Foxguard. If Mina is inclined to favor Lord Urthblood and his foxes in the face of any doubts, I know the Long Patrol would take the opposite stand, and your suspicions should balance her feelings of loyalty quite effectively. More to the point, many of your Patrols are seasoned scouts, well-versed in the ways of military observation, and will be able to examine the goings-on at Foxguard with sharp eyes that might pick up on details and discrepancies missed even by Alex and Monty. And, as much as I hate to say this, there is also the matter of Hanchett to consider. That hare has already attacked and injured two Redwallers, and I would not put it past him to molest others, particularly Lady Mina. I believe having some hares along on this mission will lessen the likelihood of such an unfortunate incident."

"That it prob'ly would, ma'am," Clewiston admitted. "Unless that lad's totally toasted his scone, Hanch has got t' know that punishment an' likely banishment's waitin' fer him if he returns to this Abbey, so I can see him stickin' to th' deep woods fer now. He may never come back to Redwall t'all, an' if that's the case, I can see him takin' up a life of forest avenger, givin' out lumps to anybeast he doesn't take a shine to ... "

"Then he's a hazard, and something must be done about him," asserted Mina.

"In time, in time," said Vanessa. "Hanchett will have to be moved to the back burner for the time being. I just wanted you all to be aware that he could pose a problem if you should happen to encounter him. Now, as tempted as I am to include Mona in this little group, she simply can't be spared from the Infirmary, not with two injured creatures up there now and who knows what other ills and wounds might spring up in the days to come. In addition, Mona might draw Hanchett's ire even more than Mina would, and that is not a risk I feel we should invite. So, for now, Mona will have to make do without a visit to her fellow foxes."

She looked then to Foremole. "Last but by no means least, I deem we must throw into the mix at least one beast who can divine more from one fleeting glance at architectural renderings or a half-finished building than all the rest of us put together. Foremole, my old friend, could I impose upon you to travel to Foxguard with these fine companions so that you may examine it with eyes and claws that are sure to miss no nuance or detail?"

"Boi okey, H'Abbess, oi'd be moighty proud t' do moi part in thizz, so oi wudd."

"Thank you. Many of the workerbeasts there are moles themselves, so my guess is they'll go out of their way to accommodate you and make you feel welcome - at least as much as their work schedule allows - no matter what Andrus says. Use your expertise to find out whatever you can, so that we can discover whether they might have anymore surprises in store for us."

"Oi'll serpintly do moi bestest, marm, burr hurr."

"I guess that does it then." Vanessa placed her paws on the table. "Two brave and stouthearted otters, two diligent and faithful squirrels, two couragous and perilous hares of the Colonel's choosing, and our dependable and stalwart Foremole. A group of eight beasts that has the best chance of unlocking whatever secrets are being kept from us."

Several of the others looked at her quizically, more than one of them performing some quick mental arithmetic on their paws. "Excuse me, Vanessa," said Arlyn, "but I only counted seven among that group you just named ... "

She smiled impishly. "Oh, did I neglect to mention that I'll be going too? I'm growing weary of constantly having events at the quarry and at Foxguard described to me secondpaw. I think it's high time the Abbess of Redwall had a look at Foxguard for herself. We leave in the morning!"

00000000000

The Abbess would have been very surprised to learn, as would every other beast at Redwall, that at that very moment a great many hidden eyes were keeping a much closer watch over Foxguard than even Highwing's Sparra. And these eyes did not belong to friends of Urthblood's foxes or shrews.

Snoga paced back and forth in the forest clearing, his sevenscore followers clustered about him. The Guosim defector was in a foul temper; aside from his slight gains in recruiting unallied woodland and river shrews to his cause, just about every other project Snoga had initiated this past season had met with either disappointing results or outright disaster. His messengers' efforts to convince Mossflower's otter tribes that Snoga was now rightfully Log-a-Log had been greeted with ridicule, dismissed out-of-paw or simply ignored. And then, just yesterday, two of the four shrews he'd dispatched to the Western Plains had finally found their way back to their comrades bearing news of their wholesale failure. The sleep-inducing gas that Urthblood had used against the searat submarine was a weapon that would have bolstered Snoga's prestige and assured him superiority over almost any conceivable enemy. But the hidden weasel tribe who guarded the secret of those narcotic herbs had spurned his offer of an alliance. Two members of his negotiating team had been cannibalized by the very vermin they'd so painstakingly sought out, and the two survivors succeeded in escaping the Flitch-aye-aye only with the aid of Urthblood's hare and falcon. Snoga's ambitions of securing this super-weapon for himself had been rebuffed and dashed, and two of his supporters had paid for this failure with their lives.

Urthblood. How Snoga despised the very name! The previous summer, after Log-a-Log's brat had gone and gotten himself kidnapped by those fox slavers, Snoga had nearly succeeded in exploiting that crisis to get himself named the new leader of the Guosim. It all would have worked out fine, if that brute of a badger and his stinking vermin hadn't blundered into the middle of what should have been private shrew business. Snoga had tracked down and slain one of those villainous foxes, and were it not for Urthblood's interference he eventually would have tracked down and slain the rest. He would have been a hero, and the Guosim would have had no choice but to make him Log-a-Log.

Urthblood ruined it all. Instead of hunting down those fox slavers, the badger had instead discovered the impossible searat vessel that ran underwater, freed the slaves and captured for himself all the glory that rightfully should have been Snoga's. And the only meager prize Snoga was left with to show for all his conniving and scheming was the measly searat sword he'd lifted from the fox he'd killed.

The irate shrew ceased his angry pacing now and held that confiscated blade up to his face. A bitter prize indeed, and a reminder of the power that had been ripped away from him when it had almost been within his grasp. For three seasons he had forced himself to carry that sword at all times, so that he would not forget for one moment this indignity which had been perpetrated against him. The enmity he'd once reserved for his Guosim rival alone was now split between Log-a-Log and Urthblood.

Snoga had sworn that if he ever could find a way to hurt Urthblood, he would jump at the chance.

And now that chance was at paw, and still Snoga's vengeance was held at bay. The presence of these swordfoxes in Mossflower was an outrage, and a personal slap in the snout to Snoga. Instead of winning the mantle of the Guosim leadership by slaying the slaver fox last summer, he now had to cower in the shadows while some of those same beasts erected their very own fortress in the middle of the forest Snoga called home. Surely the Redwallers must be furious about it too, if they were even aware of it yet. But Snoga dared not approach the Abbey for help or seeking an alliance, for they were allied with his competitor Log-a-Log and his thickheaded followers, and would surely turn him away ... or, worse yet, attack Urthblood's foxes themselves and deny Snoga his deserved glory, just as the red badger had done the summer before. And there was no way Snoga could dare an assault of his own, not with those two hundred Northland shrews on the scene. They were clearly helping the foxes with the construction of their stronghold, and would undoubtedly come to the aid of those vile swordsbeasts in the event of a battle. As would the otters and weasels helping to build the sandstone garrison. Snoga's outnumbered force would likely be slaughtered, even with the element of surprise on their side.

Then again, those Northland shrews were proving to be a double-edged sword for Urthblood. They'd been drifting south through Mossflower since late winter, by logboat and overland, and their pushy attitudes had not gone over well with their southern brethren. Snoga's forces were currently twoscore stronger than they would have been otherwise, thanks to the presence of Urthblood's shrews who'd driven the alienated Mossflower beasts into Snoga's fold. There were even reports and rumors that some of Log-a-Log's regular Guosim had grown so disenchanted with the Northlanders' presence and their chieftain's forebearance of them that they were nearly ready to abandon Log-a-Log, perhaps in favor of Snoga. After all, Urthblood had rescued the shrew leader's whelp from the searats, which left Log-a-Log beholden to that badger and his minions. His effectiveness as head of the Guosim had been compromised, and even his own supporters were starting to see that.

Which made it Snoga's purpose, of course, to exploit this erosion in Log-a-Log's support base any way that he could, and ideally lure enough of the Guosim into his camp to give him sway over the majority of Mossflower's shrews. If Snoga could score a victory against these foxes here - put enough of them in their graves so that they'd be forced to abandon work on this fortress and go running back to the Northlands with their tails between their legs - then he could probably parlay that triumph into a doubling of his numbers, and cement his stature as the undisputed master of the Guosim, no matter what Log-a-Log did. If only those damnable Northland shrews weren't there ...

Snoga's mood was hardly improved by the fact that he'd not enjoyed a hot meal in many days. When news reached him of what these foxes were doing here, Snoga had moved his entire force just to the southeast of the construction site. The dense tree cover here would hide them from the birds Urthblood was known to use sometimes, but their temporary camp was still too close to the foxes' lair for them to risk lighting any cookfires. Several times the badger's creatures had penetrated into these woods on scouting and foraging excursion, but the breakaway Guosim and their allies knew their native forestlands far more intimately than their adversary, and were able to fade back into the trees every time and thus keep their presence a secret from those upon whom they spied.

Unfortunately, spying was about all that Snoga's shrews could do. They were outnumbered on their own turf, by intruders who had no business being here in the first place. The only thing that kept Snoga in this spot was the fact that the Northland shrews were staying on or near the water, where their rafts and barges almost clogged the river. If these northerners shared anything at all with their southern brethren, then they were waterbeasts at heart, and sooner or later the call of the current and slipstream would prove irresistable, luring them to take to the River Moss and be gone. Clearly, the fox fortress would not be anywhere near large enough to house these shrews - indeed, so far it seemed to be little more than an exceedingly tall and narrow tower - and their main function appeared to be transporting the building blocks from the quarry to the work site. And since the cut stone now appeared to have all been delivered to where it was needed, Snoga could only hope that the enemy shrews would be on their way soon.

The scout shrew Poss nearly tripped over his footpaws as he burst into the clearing. Snoga turned on his blundersome underling, fighting the urge to lash out at Poss with the flat of his sword. "You slopskull! Keep makin' a racket like that, an' all them nasty Northlanders are gonna be upon us in droves!"

"No they ain't!" Poss shouted back. "That's what I came t' tell yer, Chief! Them shrews're all pullin' out! Every one of 'em!"

Snoga's eyes went wide. "Are y' sure?"

"Sure as I'm a shrew, sir! Most of 'em's prob'ly gone by now. They was headed upstream, polin' an' paddlin' 'gainst th' flow"

Snoga drove his sword back into its scabbard at his waist. Their own fleet of logboats was also stashed upriver, but in the woods away from the banks, so Urthblood's shrews should sail right past without noticing them. If things went wrong here and Snoga's forces had to make a hasty retreat, those concealed logboats would provide their means of escape.

But with this latest news, escape was the last thing on Snoga's mind. "I wanna see this fer myself ... "

00000000000

A short time later Snoga, Poss and a few of their comrades crouched low within a natural blind of drooping willow branches, out on a rocky promontory that protruded into the river and afforded them an unobstructed view of where the Northland shrews' craft were moored.

Or rather, where they had been moored. Poss was right; the flat-bottomed hauling vessels had departed. Not a one of them remained to be seen anywhere on this stretch of the River Moss.

"By my tail stubble!" one of the onlookers gasped. "When Urthblood's beasts bug out, they don't waste any time, do they?"

"Reckon this has anything t' do with that big bird that was visitin' them foxes a couple days ago?" Poss wondered.

"Dunno," Snoga muttered. "Could be that falcon was relayin' orders fer movin' out. Or mebbe their work here was nearly finished anyways. Don't really matter why they're gone; all that matters is that they are. Leastways, I don't see no more o' them about. But let's take a closer look 'round that tower, see what beasts're still there 'fore we make our next move ... "

00000000000

By evening, Snoga's scouts had spied out Foxguard from all angles, taking the full measure of the creatures who remained there in the wake of the shrews' departure. They carried out their clandestine surveillance with perfect stealth, never once betraying their presence to the foxes and moles and others they were observing.

Now, while the last of the day's fading light held out, Snoga convened a general meeting of all his shrews in their encampment clearing. His two top lieutentants Groat and Ojomo sat at either paw, ready to lend their unwavering support to their chief and help shout down any dissenting voices. The rest, both longtime supporters from his Guosim days and the newer recruits, sat in a wide half-circle around Snoga, waiting to receive his decision ... and perhaps argue it a bit, as shrews are wont to do.

"You all know what's happened," Snoga began. "Yesterday at this time we was hopelessly outnumbered, thanks to them rudeshrews who were makin' this part o' Mossflower their own private liddle kingdom. Well, they're gone now, an' that gives us a hefty advantage in numbers. We count at most threescore of them verminous foxes, as opposed to our nearly hunnerd an' fifty. An' they're swordsbeasts, not archers or slingers. If we take 'em by surprise with slingstone volleys, we should be able t' cut down most of 'em afore they knowed what hit 'em!"

Through the enthusiastic shouts of encouragement that followed, a shrew named Joop asked, "What about th' weasels 'n' otters who're there too?"

"Ain't enuff of them weasels t' matter," Snoga replied. "We'll slaughter 'em off properly along with those brushtails. As fer the otters, well, we'll give 'em a chance t' surrender an' leave our woods nice 'n' peaceful an' no hard feelin's. But if they're stupid 'nuff t' resist us, then they deserve whatever they get fer makin' foxes their allies!"

"Hear hear!"

"That'd be showin' 'em!"

"Nobeast helps foxes set up shop in Mossflower an' gets away with it!"

A young shrew named Verp timidly held up a paw. "I ain't never slain an otter afore ... " His reservations were all but drowned out in the hubbub.

Poss the scout spoke a little more loudly, and was not ignored as Verp was. "An' what of them moles, sir? I think there's more of 'em than all the otherbeasts put t'gether."

"We been over this 'fore," Snoga said curtly. "They're slaves, bein' forced t' build that furforsaken place. Moles're decent an' sensible creatures, as we all know. No self-respectin' mole would willin'ly volunteer its services t' loathesome beasts like these. They gotta be slaves. Ain't no other explanation."

In recent days Snoga had repeatedly asserted this view to his fellow shrews so many times that most of them had started to accept it as the incontrovertible truth. There were, however, still a few doubters.

Poss shook his head. "I dunno, Chief. They looked kinda willin' t' me. I didn't see no chains, or whips, or any fences or walls keepin' 'em in. An' I was lookin' pretty hard ... "

"Then those foxes must be holdin' sumthin' over 'em," Snoga snapped. "You know how devious an' cruelhearted those beasts can be. Prob'ly got some o' them moles' loved ones stashed away somewheres, an' anymole who doesn't do what it's told knows its mum or dad or spouse or sibling or liddle one could get their throat slashed or a paw chopped off. Trust me, when those diggerbeasts see us mowin' down their oppressors left 'n' right, they'll escape off inta th' woods fast as their stubby liddle legs'll carry 'em! Hey, some might even grab up their tools an' take care of a few o' them foxes for us!"

"We'll be liberators!" Ojomo declared from Snoga's left.

"Free Mossflower!" Groat exhorted from Snoga's right.

"Death to foxes!" several voices in the crowd cried out. "Death to slavers! Freedom! Freeeedom!"

Poss decided not to voice any further doubts regarding the moles.

"Right, lissen up, shrews!" Snoga shouted, raising his paws to restore order. Night was almost upon them, and he wanted to wrap this up while enough of the lingering dusk remained for his audience to see him. "We'll wait until tomorrow, just t' make sure all those Northland shrews weren't just headin' off on some day outing, or tryin' t' fool us ... "

"How'd they know t' try an' fool us if'n they doesn't even know we're here?"

"Shaddup, Neethu! I was talkin'! Now, like I was sayin', we wanna wait an' make sure those shrews are well 'n' truly gone, so's we ain't walkin' inta a trap conspired up 'tween them foxes an' their allies. Come mornin' we'll send scouts up an' down th' river t' make sure there's no sign of 'em returnin'. An' if there ain't, then we'll close in on those foxes through th' woods on all sides, get 'em completely surrounded, an' give 'em a routin' like none they've ever know before! By noontime tomorrer, the only foxes left in this region o' Mossflower'll be dead ones!"


	8. Chapter 69

Chapter Sixty-Nine

Colonel Clewiston chose Traveller and the mute hare Saticoy as the two Long Patrols who would accompany the Redwallers to Foxguard. Traveller, in spite of his advanced seasons, was an obvious choice, since the Field Marshall was Clewiston's equal in experience and authority among the Abbey's hares. Saticoy was a more curious selection, but the Colonel was more than happy to explain his thinking to Vanessa.

"Surely you've noticed, ma'am, th' times during meals an' chores an' such that other beasts have started holdin' conversations 'round Saticoy like he's not even there? Not bein' able t' speak has that effect on creatures he's near - even some of his fellow hares. Don't know whether it's 'cos he's so quiet they forget he's there, or that they think since he can't speak mayhaps he can't hear either. But it happens fairly often, an' I'm hopin' his presence has the same effect on some of Urthblood's beasts, an' he's able to overhear something that might be of use to us."

"Something that wouldn't be said around any of the rest of us," Vanessa ruminated. "Yes, that's very ... clever." She hated to admit it, even to herself, but Vanessa was personally guilty of what Clewiston had just described, and on more than one occasion, speaking in front of Saticoy as if the mute hare was just a piece of furniture. "But it's one thing for Saticoy to be taken for granted here in his own adopted home, where he's just one of many hares, and at Foxguard, where he will be an uninvited guest and will almost certainly be watched closely. Your ploy might not work ... "

Clewiston shrugged. "If it doesn't, no harm done, wot? But he's still as observant as any hare, he can handle himself in a fight, and wot's more, he an' Hanchett were very close before last summer's battle at Salamandastron, both servin' t'gether under Captain Taywood. If you do run inta that runaway hare, havin' Satty along might be a good thing."

And so it was that the party of eight was set. All got a good night's rest so they could be up before sunrise for an early breakfast and a head start on the day. By the time the sun cleared the treetops to the east, the group had been seen off from the east wallgate by Arlyn, Geoff and Elmwood, their travel packs slung across their shoulders.

Vanessa and Foremole took the lead so the others could set their pace to the mouse and mole. The Abbess had outfitted herself with a pair of borrowed sandals; since her furless footpaws were not nearly as rugged as the feet of her mole, squirrel, otter and hare companions, it had only made sense to add the sandals to her usually-shoeless raiments. Vanessa well remembered Cyril agonizing over a similar decision when he was leaving with Broggen. Never would she have imagined then that she herself would be faced with her own excursion into the nearer depths of Mossflower before the season was done.

Montybank seemed to guess what was on her mind. "Say, Nessa, ain't this gonna be th' furthest from Redwall you've ever been?"

"I remember making a day trip to the River Moss once when I was a novice," Vanessa reminisced. "It was around the longest day of the year, and Maura had us up before daylight so we could get back to the Abbey by nightfall. But I've never been across the river at all, not even to the quarry. Guess I'm just a homebody at heart."

"Bain't nuthin' wrong with that, H'Abbess marm, since y' got alla Redwall t' look arfter, burr hurr," Foremole said.

"Well, go at yore own pace then," Monty advised Vanessa. "If you ain't accustermed t' long hikes you could pull a muscle or cramp up sumthin' fierce ... "

"This pace we're at now should be fine," she assured her otter friend. "If we keep to it, what kind of time do you think we'll make?"

"Reckon that'd get us to th' river 'round midday, give or take, thanks to that early start we got. From there it'll be just a short stroke upstream, so we should get t' Foxguard well b'fore midafternoon. Even if Andrus had his otters move our raft across t' the far bank, me 'n Wink'll just swim across an' paddle it back t' where th' rest o' you can board without gettin' wet paws or tails."

"An' wot if it's not on either bank when we get there?" Traveller speculated. "Wot if they've gone an' stolen it away alt'gether?"

"Then I guess we foller th' river upstream along this side 'til we reach Foxguard," Monty answered. "With so many riverboat shrews on site, should be no problem gettin' a ride 'cross from some o' them."

"This shouldn't be an issue," Vanessa said with an air of authority. "Highwing reported that our ferry was still where it belonged when he flew over that area yesterday on his way back from Foxguard, so if Andrus has had it moved, he's been very swift about it. I think you are being overly suspicious, Traveller."

"Hope I am, ma'am. Mebbe we should've had some of our bird friends fly out ahead of us t' check, wot?"

"That might not've been a bad idea, Vanessa," Alex put in from behind her, where he marched side-by-side with Mina; both carried their bows and full quivers along with a variety of blades, making them more heavily armed than even the two Long Patrol hares. "We could even have had Highwing fly to Foxguard ahead of us so that Andrus would know to expect us ... "

"That's precisely what I don't want, Alex. Those foxes have given us enough surprises this past season and a half. This time I want it to be we who give them the surprise."

"And what if we catch them at a bad time, Abbess?" asked Mina.

"They're in the middle of building a tower, My Lady. They're working from very specific and detailed plans that show them exactly what to do, all the stone they need is already cut, shaped and on site, and they have a veritable army of workers to perform the labor. The worst that our unannounced inspection could do is set their schedule back a day or two. How bad a time could they possibly be having?"

00000000000

Even as the party from Redwall ventured deep into the woods that lay between the Abbey and the River Moss, Snoga's shrews were fanning out along the opposite banks of the broadstream both upriver and downriver of Foxguard, on the lookout for any sign that Urthblood's shrews might be returning. These Guosim scouts took great pains to steer clear of the Northlanders at the construction site, knowing how crucial it was that they retain the element of surprise for their attack.

By midmorning the undercover lookouts began withdrawing from their various concealed observation points, satisfied that the enemy shrews were gone for good. Soon all had reconvened at the base camp southeast of Foxguard to give Snoga their reports and receive their next orders.

"They ain't comin' back, Boss," Groat told his chieftain. "Those shrews must be far upriver by now. We got that remainin' rabble all to ourselves!"

"Then let's not waste any time in puttin' things t' rights!" Snoga declared to his gathered followers. "We're the True Guosim, th' ones who think of Mossflower first, who ain't beholdin' to some overbearin' warlord an' his Northland vermin who got no business bein' here in th' first place! Let's show 'em what a real Log-a-Log an' his stalwart followers can do t' foxes who think they can make these woods their own! True Guosim, that's us!"

Resounding cheers met Snoga's rousing pep talk.

"Groat, take a third of our forces an' lead 'em around to the north side of that tower. Ojomo, you take another third an' deploy 'em on th' east fringe of the enemy camp. I'll command th' rest an' come in from th' south. We'll ring 'em in on all three sides with th' river at their backs! I want every shrew in position by th' time th' sun's at its noontide directly overhead. You'll all lay low until I give the signal to attack, then we'll hit 'em from every which way at once with more slingstones than they've ever seen! We'll not leave one of them brushtailed villains alive t' see th' sunset!"

00000000000

They were, by Monty's estimation, roughly halfway to the River Moss when Hanchett stepped out onto the path before them, blocking the trail with paws akimbo.

"Ah, so you've sent out a whole blinkin' posse t' bring me in!" the renegade hare bellowed. "Lessee, we got two more otters who t'gether don't equal that streamdog I put in his place when he tried t' give me a jolly clobberin'! An' we got th' two high squirrel mucky-mucks of Redwall, although one of 'em belongs more to Urthblood than to Mossflower. An' it must've been th' Colonel's bally idea t' throw a couple of my own Long Patrol chums so I wouldn't be as likely to raise a paw against 'em!"

"Actually, it was my idea," said Vanessa.

"What ho, an' it's the jolly ol' Abbess herself! I really must be public enemy number one to've gotten this lot o' you out fer my bobtail! Don't see wot you brought along a mole for, unless you plan t' dig a prison pit an' chuck me inta it. Well, I wish ya luck! I ain't goin' back to Redwall, an' I'll give a first-class bruisin' to anybeast who's got other ideas!"

Traveller stepped forward from the rest of the group, coming to stand face-to-face with Hanchett, a mere pace separating them. The younger hare tensed, paws balled at his side, but held his ground.

"Never have I been so ashamed by the disgraceful conduct of a fellow hare," the veteran scout scolded his junior. "Disobeyin' the direct orders of your commandin' officer, disrespectin' the ways an' wishes of th' place that took us all in an' gave us a home when we had none, causin' harm to fellow Redwallers after these good folk went out of their way t' make us a part of their family ... Wot you did to Browder an' Kurdyla was a violation of everything th' Long Patrol stands for, not to mention that it broke all th' most important rules of Redwall too. Assaultin' an unarmed civilian beast! You might as well have just ripped up the Abbey tapestry an' thrown it in the Abbess's face for all th' respect you've shown her. An' wot makes you think we'd go to all th' hassle of haulin' you back to Redwall anyway? The only fittin' punishment we could give you is banishment, since you proved you're not fit fer livin' alongside civilized creatures. Congratulations, Hanchett - your abominable behavior an' stupendous bad judgment has landed you in the same category as Broggen. Ye're an outcast now, not welcome back at Redwall for th' rest of your seasons. Hope you enjoy your new status, 'cos that's wot your deeds have gained you."

Hanchett's jaw dropped, then dropped some more as he was rendered dumbstruck by Traveller's condemnation. Broggen was utterly despicable in his eyes, a murderer and the lowest of the low who didn't deserve to live while the talented young healer mouse he'd slain lay in her sad grave. The idea that the Redwallers might see him in the same light as that drunkard, verminous stoat, that they viewed his transgressions as deserving of the same punishment that Broggen had received, was like a swift punch to his gut. Even if Browder had died from Hanchett's beating, it wouldn't have been a crime on par with what Broggen had done. It simply couldn't be.

"Browder an' Kurdyla ... neither of 'em died, did they?" he asked in a rasp, shaken to the core by his senior's reprimand.

"No, they're not dead. You're too skilled a fighter to've slain Browder; you knew exactly how to thrash him to within an inch of his measly life without puttin' him over the edge. As for Kurdyla, well, I s'pose he could've bled to death if th' Forest Patrol hadn't found him when they did, since you left him gashed up in three places an' in no state to walk back to the Abbey on his own. If he'd perished, then mebbe you would be looking at somethin' more severe than just banishment now."

"That otter's a madbeast!" Hanchett protested. "He woulda throttled me if I hadn't laid him low first! It was self-defense! He's far more of a hazard havin' 'round th' bally Abbey than I'd ever be!"

"He wouldn't have gone on such a bloomin' rampage if you hadn't set him off by assaultin' Browder in th' first place. You knew how protective Kurdyla was over that hare, and had t' know how he'd react to wot you did ... "

"Be honest, sir," Hanchett said to Traveller, voice lowered conspiratorially, "you'd love t' wring Browder's neck or stick a knife 'twixt his ribs yerself, wouldn'tcha? Don't deny it - I've seen th' way you glare at him sometimes, with all th' love in yer eyes you'd lavish on Urthblood 'imself. You an' about half th' Long Patrol."

"Yah, but me an' half th' Long patrol knew better than to go against the Colonel's orders an' the Abbess's wishes, much as we may've wanted to. I don't hafta like Browder t' share th' Abbey with him, but when Mizagelle got it into her head t' go an' marry that fink, that changed everything. Now, for better or worse, he's Mizzy's husband, an' soon to be father of her child. That also makes him Givadon's brother-in-law, Mel an' the Colonel's son-in-law ... an' it makes us all Redwallers together, first an' foremost. An' Redwallers don't go around beatin' th' stuffing outta each other, or cripplin' each other."

"Browder's no Redwaller!" Hanchett shouted in Traveller's face.

"Neither are you, chap. Not after wot you did. Tho', mebbe I'm bein' a bit premature in sayin' that. Don't wanna speak outta turn, don'tcha know." The old scout hare stepped aside to leave Hanchett facing the rest of the Redwallers. "Wotcha say, Abbess ma'am? Is Hanch still a Redwaller, or ain't he?"

"I'm not entirely comfortable issuing such a proclamation on the spot like this, in these surroundings," said Vanessa. "In all honesty, I'd still planned on giving the matter some more thought, once our more immediate concerns had been put behind us. Then again, if Hanchett is going to be so stubborn in his refusal to return to the Abbey, that rather solves that dilemma for me, since he has already imposed upon himself the most severe punishment I would have given him."

"It would mean livin' apart from all his fellow hares for th' rest of his seasons." Traveller regarded Hanchett critically. "Then again, he's already been doin' that fer some time, in a manner o' speakin'."

"Wait a minute ... " Hanchett suddenly looked confused. "If you lot aren't out here on my account, then wot're you doin' here?"

Vanessa traded glances with Traveller, an unspoken inquiry as to whether they would be inviting unnecessary trouble upon themselves if they brought Hanchett up to date on everything that was going on. The old hare gave the slightest of nods, so the Abbess went ahead.

"We're on our way to Foxguard. Andrus and Tolar lied to us. The fortress they're building isn't going to be a low-lying structure at all, but a lookout tower that's already tall enough to be seen above the trees from our walltops, and will be much higher before it's finished. We're going to have a look at it for ourselves ... and perhaps demand some answers while we're at it."

Hanchett nodded casually, as if this latest duplicity from Urthblood's foxes was not the least bit surprising. "And t' have 'em tear it down, I hope?"

"Not if we don't see any reason for them to do so," Mina said.

"Well, I'm jolly well positive _you_ wouldn't find any such cause," Hanchett told the Gawtrybe squirrel, "so it's a good thing there's a sensible mole, two fine hares an' a couple o' dependable otterfolk along on this stroll. Don't let 'em pull th' bally wool over your eyes, Abbess, 'cos you know they'll try to, just like they have before. An' don't think it's none of my concern, even if I won't be comin' back to the Abbey anytime soon. If I'm gonna be dwellin' in these woods fer th' rest o' my seasons, I'm gonna make wot goes on at that place my business, you can count on that!"

"You've already caused enough problems," Alexander said to the recalcitrant hare. "Don't go causing us any more."

"Wouldn't dream of it, treejumper. Well, I'll not keep you fine folk from your appointment with those brushtails any longer." Hanchett stepped aside to clear the path for the travellers. "Sure they'll have a smackin' beanfest all laid out for you, an' don't wanna keep 'em waitin', wot?"

"Burr hurr, they'm foxers doan't be expectern uz, no zurr," Foremole said.

"Oh no?" Hanchett laughed. "Well, then won't they be surprised!"

The inspection expedition filed past Hanchett as he stood in the bushes by the side of the forest trail. Mina shot him an irate glance as she passed, while the silent Saticoy flashed him a paw signal of encouragement.

"Give that foxtower a few good kicks fer me, Satty!" Hanchett called out as he faded back into the woods. "Mebbe if we're lucky we can get it t' fall down, wot?"

00000000000

Their procession made better time than they'd anticipated, even with the slight delay Hanchett had caused them. It was not yet noon when the sound of the river's gently-flowing waters reached their ears. The fresh smell of the ever-renewed broadstream filled their nostrils, and the forest began to thin out around them as they approached the banks. At last the trees opened up before them, revealing the sun-sparkled expanse of the River Moss winding its way through the woods like a great rippling serpent, dividing Mossflower in two.

Monty bounded ahead of the rest to scope out the near bank, returning almost immediately. "No cause fer further worry or speculation, mateys," he grinned. "Our ferry barge's right where it's s'posed t' be. How's about we climb aboard an' push off, then you gennelbeasts can enjoy a nice picnic on th' water while me 'n' Wink start polin' us upstream?"

"But then when will you eat?" asked Vanessa.

"Yeah," Alex added, "and won't you need more than just the two of you to drive the raft? We'll be fighting the currents, you know ... "

"Aw, th' Moss's runnin' slow 'n' smooth today, an' we'll mostly be keepin' near th' banks anyway. Us two riverdogs oughta be able t' manage it a'right on our own."

The Abbess decided to veto the idea without further discussion. The river may have looked calm in the otter Skipper's eyes, but its undulating surface and swirling eddies did not seem quite so placid to Vanessa's landlubber's gaze. She'd often heard of creatures who were unaccustomed to the ways of the water getting seasick their first time aboard a boat, and she didn't want to risk becoming one of those beasts by trying to take her lunch upon an unsteady and swaying ferry barge.

"There's no need to rush things," she assured her old otter friend. "We're ahead of the schedule we'd set for ourselves, so there's no reason we can't enjoy a nice leisurely lunch right here on dry land. I'm sure we're all a little weary in the legs from walking all morning, and you and Winokur have earned a break as much as the rest of us. We'll get underway once we've all had a nice meal and spent some time off our footpaws."

This seemed like good sense to all of them, even the two otters, so they picked a nice grassy spot in the sun to sit themselves down and dig into their haversacks. Even the Abbess carried one of her own; she'd insisted back at the Abbey that if she was going to assign herself to this expedition, then she would certainly not impose upon anybeast else to carry her own supplies for her. Fortunately, since this trip was not likely to last more than two or three days (and during part of that time - hopefully - their hosts at Foxguard would be feeding them), none of the packs were especially weighty. All of them together didn't equal what Klystra had borne away to the former slaves who were at that very moment approaching Redwall from the west.

"So, Abbess," Winokur asked as they all nibbled on their respective sandwiches, cheeses, pasties, scones and muffins, "how do you feel about your upcoming first voyage on any type of watercraft?"

"It should be quite an adventure, in its own modest way. I just hope it turns out to be the most adventurous part of this little excursion, since I'd like to think Andrus isn't going to make things too exciting for us once we get to Foxguard."

"You thinkin' we might be less than welcome when we get there?" Traveller asked her.

Vanessa shrugged. "It's just that Tolar and Andrus keep stressing that we'll be welcome to visit their new home _after_ it's finished, while at the same time dropping none-too-subtle hints that we'd only be in the way if we went there before then."

"That was when they had something to hide," Alex pointed out. "Of course they wouldn't have wanted us stumbling upon them and discovering their tower when they were in the early stages of building it. But now that they know we know about it, what reason would they have for keeping us away?"

"'Bout a dozen awkward questions they may not want t' jolly well answer would be reason 'nuff, seems t' me," said Traveller. "No dishonest scoundrel likes gettin' caught in an open lie an' havin' t' fess up to it. My acorns're on us gettin' a chilly reception from those blinkin' brushtails when we set foot on their patch o' dirt ... "

As always, Lady Mina was dismissive of the hare's suspicious attitude. "And then there's always the very real possibility that Andrus and Tolar were being entirely honest in their stated reasons for wanting us to stay away from the construction site. Now that we know just how ambitious an undertaking Foxguard is, it only makes sense that they would want to keep away any creatures not essential to the building process. I mean, what if there was an accident? A loose bit of masonry or a tool dropped from the top of that tower would instantly kill anybeast it struck."

"That may well be true," said Vanessa. "But issues of safety aside, Andrus still owes us an explanation for why he deceived us about that tower in the first place. That is the main reason I decided to join the rest of you. Since Andrus has never seen fit to visit us at Redwall since the re-opening of the quarry, it appears I will have to go to him if I wish to speak with that chief swordfox at all. And I daresay he will find it more difficult to evade the issue when the Abbess of Redwall is questioning him face-to-face. It disappoints me that I might not be at the Abbey to welcome this latest batch of refugees who are on their way to live with us, but I'm sure an appropriate reception will await them even in my absence, and it is more important that I be here."

Vanessa and a few of the others noticed Saticoy softly whistling to Traveller for the older hare's attention and flashing him some subtle paw signals. Ever since losing his voice at the battle for Salamandastron three seasons ago, Saticoy had developed an entire vocabulary of whistles, hums, tongue clicks, grunts, pops and chatters combined with a language of gestures and paw configurations that allowed him to converse with his fellow Long Patrols almost as fluently as if his larynx was still intact. The truth was that the hares had worked with Saticoy in their sub-Abbey warren much more extensively than most of the Abbeybeasts realized, not only for the sake of their mute comrade but for their own as well. What Clewiston had told Vanessa that morning was perfectly accurate - many beasts did speak more freely around Saticoy owing to his constant silence - but what the Abbess could only have guessed at was that he had allowed himself to be forged into a secret weapon of sorts, able to communicate fluently with his fellow hares when most other creatures assumed him capable of imparting only the most basic information to his comrades in arms.

"What is it, Traveller?" Vanessa inquired.

"Oh, Satty's just tellin' me 'bout Hanchett, ma'am ... "

"That hare is a menace," Mina said before Traveller could go on. "I'm surprised he didn't assault us outright - sling pinecones at us or somesuch. At least we seem to be rid of him for now."

"Wouldn't go that far, marm - " the veteran scout jerked a paw thumb over his shoulder, " - since he's back there in th' trees watchin' us right now. Been shadowin' us ever since we ran inta him."

They all looked in the direction Traveller had indicated, but only the most sharp-eyed among them were able to discern the long-eared figure that ducked behind a tree in response to their obvious stares.

"If he's got it in mind to cause us more trouble ... " Mina bit off through gritted teeth.

"Wotcha mean, 'more trouble?'" Traveller challenged. "We're th' ones who put him in his bally place when he poked his head out into our path, wot?"

"What do you think he wants, Traveller?" the Abbess asked.

"Why not just ask him?" Both Traveller and Saticoy began waving at the seemingly-deserted grove for the now-concealed hare to join them. After a few moments, Hanchett hesitantly emerged from the forest shade and strolled out into the sunlight to join the other woodlanders. As if it were the most natural thing in the world, he settled down onto the grass alongside the other two hares and helped himself to an oat scone from Saticoy's pack.

"Mmm, thanks, Satty. Gets a chap a bit peckish, runnin' all through th' blinkin' woods, subsistin' on hard crabapples an' tryin' t' tell edible mushrooms from poisonous toadstools. Gonna miss this fine Redwall fare almost as much as all you fine fellas, don'tcha know."

"You haven't started missing it much yet, it seems," observed Mina, casting an acerbic glance the hare's way as he made the scone disappear in record time.

"Just takin' advantage of wot providence has set before me, like any sensible creature would. You gonna finish that cranberry muffin?"

"And just why are you following us?" Vanessa asked Hanchett.

"Well, I figgered any parade featurin' the Abbess of Redwall's entitled to a little extra protection, wot? 'Specially with so many foxes an' other unsavory elements roamin' th' neighborhood these days. Just wanted t' make sure nobeast caused you any fuss."

"So far the only beast who's accosted us this morning was an unruly hare who got in our way," Mina sniffed.

"Better a hare of the Long Patrol than any other creature you could hope t' meet." Traveller rose from the grass and crossed to have a private word with Vanessa. "He's never gonna come right out an' say it, ma'am, but Hanch wants to come with us to Foxguard, an' I for one would really like havin' him along. That hare's as fast a runner an' as good a fighter as any there's ever been, a first rate scout an' a heart that knows no fear. I think it'd be to our benefit to include him in our party ... "

Vanessa didn't try to hide her surprise. "The Colonel picked Saticoy to accompany us specifically in case Hanchett troubled us, and now you're proposing we bring that very hare to Foxguard? He's only just assaulted two of his fellow Abbeybeasts - can you imagine what he might do to a fox?"

"Now, Abbess, that's hardly bein' fair, wot? You know he had a beef with Browder that went back to before he became a Redwaller, an' he wouldn'ta laid a paw on Kurdyla if that berserk otter hadn't gone chasin' after him with murder on his bally mind. You need look no further than that Mona you've got helpin' you out in your sick bay. He's never looked at her cross-eyed, has he? Well, maybe that first day or two, but ever since then he's gotten along with her just fine. Now, if he were t' run inta one o' these swordfoxes out here alone in th' woods, he might have a go at him. But there's over twoscore of those bushtailed bladeswingers where we're goin', an' Hanch'll know to keep his peace an' not step outta line while we're there. He knows that if he starts something without cause, me 'n' Satty'll have no choice but t' stand back an' let those foxes finish it. So he won't."

"You sound very sure about that."

"I am, ma'am. That's why I said it. Besides, would you rather have Hanchett runnin' around unchecked, or under our noses where we can know where he is at all times?"

Vanessa considered. "Well, that ferry barge was used for hauling digging crews and heavy loads of stone from the quarry, so it should support nine of us as easily as eight, I suppose." She raised her voice, calling across to the hare in question, "Hanchett, since you've come all this way already, would you like to come with us to Foxguard?"

"Who, me? Oh, um, er ... "

"Say 'yes,' Hanch," Traveller advised.

"Uh ... yes, ma'am!"

Mina opened her mouth to protest, but closed it without saying a word when she saw the look of decision on Vanessa's face.

"Very well. Our party is now nine instead of eight," the Abbess declared.

Saticoy flashed Hanchett both a grin and a pawthumbs-up sign.


	9. Chapter 70

Chapter Seventy

Roxroy couldn't wait for lunchtime.

While the moles, weasels and otters oversaw most of the construction process in and around the tower, the young swordfox and his fellow cadets were being put through their paces in the clearing east and south of the rising edifice. The students' training grounds lay approximately where the thick outer protective wall of Foxguard would eventually go up, but for now they were just expanses of dirt and grass.

The number of foxes on site had recently topped fifty. Fewer than a score of those were full-fledged senior swordsbeasts of Lord Urthblood's brigade, experienced soldiers qualified to go into battle. The rest were newer recruits like Roxroy himself, some as young as eleven or twelve seasons but most in the fourteen to nineteen range. Not even the oldest cadets, in their early twenties, had been born when Urthblood started his Northland campaigns. Here was the future of the fox race, the first generation raised under the new order of all creatures working together toward the common goal of peace and shared respect for one another.

And for Urthblood's swordfoxes, earning the respect of other species started with learning to respect themselves. To that end, they underwent a strenuous and exacting regimen of training twice as demanding as anything imposed upon the rest of the Badger Lord's army. This made them the elite of all the Northland fighters, as formidable with broadsword as the Gawtrybe were with bow and arrow. They stood as the unswerving enforcers of Urthblood's will, the keepers of the peace within the ranks and the worst nightmare of any foebeast. The days of foxes as sly and conniving thieves and villains scavenging on the fringes of civilized society would be banished from the memories of all beasts, if those here had anything to say about it.

Thus, while the foxes at the construction site would periodically lend a paw with the building of their future home when necessary, they mostly left that endeavor to the expert moles and their workerbeasts. With no wall around the compound yet, Andrus and his brigade maintained the security of the perimeter. This mainly meant keeping up a show of force out in the open, especially now that their ferry shrews were gone, greatly diminishing their ability to scout very deeply into the surrounding forest. Those thick woods came came right up to the edge of their drilling areas in some places, but Andrus didn't seem overly concerned. The shrews had never found any sign of hostile forces during their reconnaissance patrols, and this was Mossflower after all. How likely was there to be any sizable enemy nearby?

Roxroy was paired up with the senior fox Sappakit along the south side of the site, practice duelling with his instructor while his fellow cadets Frew, Belsis and Thale looked on. Elsewhere around the circumference of the construction zone, other seasoned campaigner foxes worked with their trainees one-on-one or in small groups like their own. A few, drawn from both the pool of cadets and the veterans, were excused from the drilling to walk sentry duty at the forest's edge or stand lookout from the temporary plank roof of the unfinished fortress.

Roxroy felt he had learned so much in the last season and a half since coming down from the Northlands to begin his serious career training. He could hold his own against nearly all the other cadets, even those older than he, and it was clear that his instructors held back less and less in their practice engagements with him. The senior swordfoxes seldom spoke more than the sparest words of praise, but this increase in the intensity of the workouts told Roxroy more than any verbal encouragement. They trusted him to keep up with them, expected him to do so and made the assumption clear to him without voicing it. Sometimes he grew frustrated when he couldn't quite measure up to their increased expectations - every time he began to feel he was finally mastering his blade skills, they had a way of making him look like a fumble-pawed kit who'd never held a sword before - but for the most part he relished the challenge. He certainly would rather be at the head of the class than at the back of it, no matter what pressures and responsibilities came with the territory.

In his present face-off with Sappakit, Roxroy held himself raised slightly up off his heels, poised on the balls of his footpaws for quickness and balance, tail swishing back and forth for stability depending on which way he leaned in his parries and thrusts at any given moment. He kept the thumb of his left paw hooked into his belt at his side; as much as he could have improved his equilibrium by swinging his free arm back and forth as needed, all the swordfox cadets were trained to keep their empty paws at their waists at all times during exercises. This wasn't just for discipline or the pure honing of their skills. Practices always featured real swords, and the inopportune forward sweep of an untrained paw at the wrong moment could easily cost a cadet part or all of that paw. Andrus and his veteran foxes were extraordinarily and exceptionally practiced with their blades, but not so talented that accidents were guaranteed never to happen. Their young recruits were not yet so numerous that they could afford to end any of these swordsbeasts' fledgling careers with an inadvertent maiming.

This morning, Sappakit reviewed with Roxroy and the others some of the various wrist-flip techniques that could be used to deprive an unwary and less skilled opponent of his blade. As Roxroy leaned in to try his paw at such a maneuver (not that any senior swordfox of the brigade would ever allow himself to be deprived of his weapon by a student), the young fox heard shouts coming from the clearing's edge. This was fairly unusual - the foxes of their brigade typically kept their silence unless they had good reason to do otherwise - but Roxroy was too immersed in his exercise, his concentration too focused upon trying to prove to his instructor just how good he was, to divert his attention to what might be happening on the periphery of his vision.

Then the unthinkable happened: to Roxroy's amazed eyes and equally amazed sword paw, the weapon lifted from Sappakit's suddenly-distracted grasp and fell, as if in slow motion, to the ground alongside the veteran fox. Roxroy may not have allowed other events to intrude upon his single-minded drill trance, but the same could not be said for Sappakit.

Roxroy would never have the chance to exult, even momentarily, over his impossible triumph. Automatically he lowered his blade and stepped back from Sappakit, as was the protocol after relieving a sparring partner of his weapon. But even as he did so, the older fox hastily stooped to retrieve his sword, yelling, "Down! Everybeast, get down!"

Seeing Sappakit hold to an alert defensive crouch even after picking up his weapon, Roxroy quickly imitated his master.

But it was Frew who reached the ground first - not in a squat but with a toppled-over thud - after a whizzing stone smashed into the back of his skull, killing him before he knew what had happened.

Belsis landed hard on his tail a heartbeat later, clutching his shattered and bleeding elbow. "I'm hit!" he yelled out, as if issuing a routine status report.

Thale, uninjured so far, crouched as low as he could go without falling flat on his haunches, waving his sword wildly about his head in a feeble attempt to ward off any projectile that might be aimed his way. Shouts of, "Attack! Attack!" could be heard from various parts of the perimeter.

Roxroy swept his gaze along the forest edge from east to south ... and everywhere he looked he saw foxes down or falling. But they were not the only beasts to be seen. Swarming out of the trees and undergrowth were what seemed masses of shrews. Roxroy's first thought, that these were their own Northland allies who'd returned for some reason, was quickly chased out of his mind by the incongruous colored headbands these shrews wore above their fierce expressions, and their whirling slings and brandished shortswords. All doubt as to their intent was banished when they reached the first of the fallen foxes, a cadet named Joris. Perhaps Joris had been slain by the surprise volley, perhaps merely stunned ... but after the shrew blade was thrust through his heart there could be no doubt as to the unfortunate fox's state.

The shrews' gruff voices were added to the cries of alarm from the swordfoxes. "Snooooga!" "True Guooooooosim!" "Mossflower!" "Liberation!"

Tolar came bounding toward Roxroy and Sappakit in a headlong, zigzagging, crouched run, two of his own trainees trailing behind him. "It's an ambush!" he yelled, waving for them to make for the fortress. "Fall back to Foxguard! Everybeast, take cover!"

Roxroy needed no second bidding. Sheathing his sword in one fluid motion and then holding his arms up over his head to shield his skull from what had now become a hail of slingstones, he went into a sprint toward the unfinished tower. Thale, still swinging his own blade about his head, ran at Roxroy's side, while the injured Belsis was at their heels, clutching at his bloody elbow.

He'd covered half the distance to the redstone sanctuary when a speeding slingstone caught him squarely on his sword paw; the force of the impact drove the protective paw into a smack against the back of his head. Roxroy both heard and felt the bones snap. He almost stumbled but somehow kept his footing, ignoring the pain that flared up through his right arm, ignoring also the second slingstone that caught him a glancing blow off his right leg. These physical distractions were not enough to dispel from his mind the mental picture, playing out over and over again in his head, of the fallen Joris taking the merciless shrew blade through his chest. Roxroy knew that if he were to stumble and go down, he would meet the same barbaric fate.

And so onward he ran, for what else was there to do?

00000000000

Most of the otters, under the command of Lieutenant Rontorka, were working near the canal when the attack began. Much of the cut stone for the building of Foxguard still sat on barges there, or was piled on the banks of the artificial channel, where it would be carted to the construction site as needed. It was enough red sandstone to build a small town, and some of the stacks were like miniature mountains, walking between them akin to navigating sunken trenches. It was here that the otters' brawn and musclepower was needed most, whether in transferring the heavy blocks from the barges to the shore or hauling the stone from the canal banks to the tower.

The canal came almost to where the curve of the outer wall would be when Foxguard was finished. This would give the swordfox garrison its own harbor of sorts, a way for boating traffic from the River Moss to divert itself right to the door of the fortress. This also put the head of the canal close enough to the ascending tower - and close enough to the open areas where the swordfoxes had been drilling - for Rontorka's crew to have a clear view of the shrews' surprise assault, even if they weren't entirely sure at first exactly what they were seeing.

But they were otters, they were near water, and when the first sign of trouble made itself known, they automatically fell back on both their instincts and their training. Even as the besieged foxes broke and ran for the safety of their stronghold, the otters dove into the canal almost as one and stroked their way toward the river. Halfway between the head and mouth of the canal, confident that they were clear of the immediate skirmish zone, Rontorka called a halt to their strategic withdrawl so they could regroup and decide upon their next course of action.

"Ain't we gonna swim all th' way out to th' river where we'll be safe, sir?" inquired a stout female.

"Nay, Banka." Rontorka shook his head. "We'll be safe 'nuff here. If I saw things right back there, those were shrews attackin' us, an' I don't think they'd come after us. An' if they did we'd just swim further out t' get away from 'em ... "

"Shrews?" asked another otter. "Why would shrews attack us?"

Rontorka shrugged, "Dunno, but those were Mossflower shrews, not ours, so who c'n say what's in their heads?"

Banka cast a worried glance riverward. "What if there's more of 'em out there blockin' our escape route with their logboats, or gettin' ready to row up this canal t' catch us in a pincher movement?"

"Escape route? Who said anything 'bout escapin'?" Rontorka pointed back the way they'd come. "We're soldiers in Lord Urthblood's army, an' right now one of his bases is under attack! Those're our comrades back there, foxes 'n' moles 'n' weasels all, an' comrades-in-arms stand t'gether in the face o' th' enemy! We're goin' back!"

Rontorka's sergeant Scudder scanned the banks of the canal on either side. The land that had been cleared to accommodate the building of both the canal and Foxguard itself left this stretch largely denuded of trees and growth. "We won't have much in th' way o' cover, sir."

"So we'll swim back up the canal," the Lieutenant answered. "We made a splashy, noisy getaway, so hopefully they won't be expectin' a smooth 'n' silent return. Then mebbe we c'n find out what's stuck in their craw so deep that they'd attack us unprovoked. An' if they don't wanna be reas'nable 'bout explainin' themselves, then we'll show 'em they ain't th' only ones hereabouts who can sling pebbles ... an' mebbe give 'em a taste of our javelins' steel while we're at it!"

00000000000

Only the base of the tower was completely enclosed at this point in the construction. A wood beam framework encircling the tower outlined where the main part of the fortress would eventually stand, but for now only a few of the radial support walls had been set in stone. A roof of wood planks laid across the uppermost beams provided a crude shelter where the foxes and workerbeasts could sleep or come in out of the rain, but otherwise the frame was completely open and afforded them no protection whatsoever from the attacking shrews. Only stone walls could do that, and only the tower itself provided such walls right now.

And so into the tower everybeast ran.

To say that confusion and chaos reigned within would have been an understatement. The narrow structure had not been designed to hold any large number of beasts; the stairs that wound upward between its inner and outer walls were only wide enough to admit the passage of two foxes walking abreast, while the central shaft could hold at most a dozen creatures standing shoulder-to-shoulder. Fortunately, the cellars of Foxguard were nearly finished and accessible from within the tower. Unfortunately, that access was by the same narrow stairway, which made getting everybeast inside quickly a nearly impossible task.

The moles and others who'd been laboring up at the top of the structure, adding to its height brick by brick, stayed there so as not to add to the confusion that had broken out below them (not that there was any rapid way down from that high vantage even if they'd been inclined to take it). The workers who'd been toiling inside the base of the tower when the attack came now scurried up or down the stairs as fast as they could to make room for the sudden influx of foxes.

But it was not enough. The hostile shrews' slingstones chased the fleeing foxes all the way to the tower entrance, and two more of the swordsbeasts fell under the onslaught even as they sought shelter.

In the end it was one of the Foremoles who saved the fox brigade from further loss. Seeing that his fox comrades would never be able to get inside without suffering massive attrition, the digger beast and several of his fellows selflessly stepped forward, placing themselves between the foxes and the advancing enemy shrews.

The fusillade of deadly slingstones ceased almost immediately, as did the shrews' charge. Whoever these hostile waterbeasts were, the moles had guessed correctly that they would hesitate to use lethal force against fellow woodlanders. It had been a gamble and a terrible risk, but it paid off thanks to the moles' quick thinking and impeccable common sense. Every fox who'd succeeded in making it this far was able to get inside the tower without further injury.

Some of the moles remained outside, seeing they were in no immediate danger, offering themselves as intermediaries should their attackers seek to talk or negotiate. But for the moment the belligerent shrews seemed content to fall back and regroup at the forest's edge, perhaps satisfied with the damage they'd inflicted, perhaps reorganizing for another attack, or perhaps confounded and cast into indecision by the moles' unexpected countermove. Several among them could be seen striding back and forth gesturing emphatically and speaking loudly, although their exact words could not be made out at this distance.

There were doorways built into the outside of the tower, portals which would open onto the second and third floors of Foxguard once those floors were actually built. There were also windows higher up, so that creatures ascending the formidable staircase would not be sealed between two stone walls for the entire duration of their climb. The primary observation deck would be at the tower's top, but the design made practically the entire structure one continuous, multilevel lookout pillar.

The injured foxes were carried or escorted down to the basement, where their healthy kin could tend their wounds. Most of the remaining swordsbeasts - including Andrus and Tolar - took up stations along the staircase so they could look out over the surrounding area. They were trained soldiers, they'd been attacked, and that made this a battle ... a battle in which, at the moment, the enemy seemed to hold the upper paw.

The shrews, arguing and deliberating amongst themselves, had made no effort to move the bodies of the foxes they'd slain. All lay where they'd fallen out in plain sight - which made taking their count from the tower windows a very easy matter.

"Seventeen," Andrus growled after taking his own tally and finding it in accord with Tolar's. "Seventeen good foxes ... Kossuth and Korix, who'd survived last summer's battle at Salamandastron, only to be cut down by this cowardly, treacherous, unprovoked ... " The Sword could not bring himself to continue. "Who are those shrews, and why do they attack us thus?"

Andrus had been inside the tower consulting with one of the Foremoles when the assault came, so he'd not gotten as close a look at them as Tolar had. "They're the Guosim," the fox subcommander said. "The shrews that live here in Mossflower, who are allied with Redwall. I met them both times I visited the Abbey, and I heard them quite clearly giving the Guosim battle cry just now."

Andrus looked to his lieutenant. "But ... why would allies of Redwall attack us?"

Tolar leaned closer to his chieftain. "It cannot be coincidence, sir. We knew they would not take well to the revelation of Foxguard's true shape, or the fact that we hid it from them. Yesterday one of their birds comes here demanding explanations, and this morning we are attacked by their allies. You paint the picture."

"I did not think they would go to war over this. And why just the shrews? Where are their squirrels, their otters ... where are the Long Patrols?"

"Remember," said Tolar, "Lady Mina lives at Redwall now. Perhaps they think to hide this from her. It may even be that the Abbess herself does not know of this. It could have been planned and ordered by some of Redwall's other defenders, without her knowledge or consent."

"Couldn't these shrews have moved against us on their own, without any cooperation from Redwall?" Andrus asked hopefully.

"In light of everything else that's going on now? Ask yourself honestly, sir, what are the odds?"

Andrus chewed on nothing, and did not like the taste of it. "You have visited the Abbey twice since I was last there, and you know their current temperament better than I would. So, what do we do now?"

"They only went after us, you noticed. As soon as our moles stepped into harm's way, those shrews disengaged ... just as you would expect from Redwallers. This seems to be our only advantage at the moment, so we must utilize it fully. If there were no moles between us now, there can be no doubt whatsoever that the Guosim would try to exterminate us down to the last fox."

"Their slingstones won't do them any good against the walls of this tower," Andrus said. "And if they try to storm us, they'll quickly discover how lethal the swords of even our youngest cadets are."

"I doubt they'd try it, sir. They surely would have heard accounts of the battle of Salamandastron from the Redwallers, and from the Long Patrol. They know what we can do with our blades ... which is why they attacked us with long-range weapons like slings. What I wouldn't give to have a score of Gawtrybe here now!"

"I know what you mean, Tolar old friend. But for better or worse, we're on our own here ... "

"Too bad Lieutenant Rontorka's otters took off ... " Tolar lamented. "We might need their own slings before this is over."

"They're otters," Andrus said with understanding. "Their instincts and training are to take to any body of water close to paw when trouble breaks out. You can be sure they'll be back."

00000000000

Snoga was not pleased with the way things were going so far.

"Seventeen?" he roared at the shrews around him. "That's less'n a third o' their number! How'd we let so many of those brushtails get away?"

"Um, they was quicker'n we thought, Chief," Groat stammered. "It's like we hardly caught 'em by surprise t'all. They knew just how t' duck an' pull back t' minimize their losses ... "

Snoga scowled and pointed to where two shrews lay slain at the forest's edge. "An' what about them? This was s'posed t' be a distance engagement, with slings only until we'd brought 'em all down! How'd we end up with any dead shrews at all?"

"Uh ... er ... right when we began our attack," explained Ojomo, "there was this one fox, looked like he was walkin' a patrol, an' he was just the other side of some bushes where we was hid. So Stoo an' Volcy figgered they'd just jump out an' take care of 'im pers'nally. They took care of 'im, awright - but not 'fore he'd turned on 'em and run 'em both through. Cripes, Boss, t'was like that fox became a red demon with that sword o' his! Never seen a beast wield steel like that! If th' rest of 'em can use their weapons half that well, this might turn out t' be a tougher fight than we thought ... "

Ojomo might have choked if he could have known that the fox in question had been an eighteen-season-old cadet, only a fraction as skilled as Andrus or Tolar or the rest of the veteran swordfoxes.

"Doesn't matter how fancy they are with those pretty swords o' theirs," Snoga barked, "I don't mean t' get close enuff t' give 'em a chance to use 'em! We took out a third of 'em with slingstones, an' that's how we'll take care of th' rest! We coulda taken out a lot more of 'em, too, if we'd been able t' press our attack when we had 'em on th' run an' all piled up outside their tower door. Shoulda known they'd do somethin' like sendin' out their mole slaves t' shield themselves! Craven beasts like that have no shame! They knew we'd have no choice but t' break off our offensive, since we'd not slaughter moles."

"I dunno, Chief," the scout Poss worried. "Didn't look t' me like anybeast was makin' them moles do anything they didn't wanna ... "

"Shaddup, Poss!" Snoga snapped, stalking over to the doubtful shrew and smacking him hard across the snout for good measure. "No mole would be in cahoots with foxes! What, you think it takes more'n a word or a look from those wicked brushtails t' make their slaves fall inta line?"

Poss rubbed at his smarting nose, deciding then and there that he would utter not another word about moles for the rest of that day.

"Yeah," said Groat, "y' notice those otters didn't think twice 'bout clearin' out when th' fur started flyin', an' we know they was workin' with th' foxes voluntarily ... "

"Prob'ly not so much voluntarily as 'cos that big red brute of a badger ordered 'em to," said Snoga. "An' o' course they took off when we attacked - they've got better sense than t' risk injury standin' up fer th' likes o' that slaver swordscum! Prob'ly secretly hopin' we clean out that rabble entirely, wouldn't be surprised. 'Sides, they musta got enuff of an eyeful of the action t' see it was shrews attackin'. Otters 'n' shrews are kin of th' waterways, an' they wouldn't fight shrews anymore'n we'd fight moles."

"Yeah, but they didn't exactly stand with us neither, did they?"

"Shaddup, Neethu. They hadta get themselves outta th' line o' fire, 'fore anything else, didn't they? An' they'll wanna keep their jobs with Urthblood after this's all over. Can't very well do that if they help us fight these foxes who're s'posed t' be their allies, an' word gets back t' that badger. Simpler just t' swim away an' let us have at those vermin. That way they can honestly tell Urthblood they was makin' a tactical retreat, an' they weren't able t' get back inta th' fight quickly 'nuff t' keep those foxes from gettin' massacred. Take my word, lads, those riverdogs'll sit this battle out b'fore they'll take up arms 'gainst shrews."

"Glad we didn't hafta slay no otters," said the young shrew Verp. "I wouldn't of wanted t' slay otters." But none of the others paid Verp any attention.

"So, whadda we do now, Boss?" asked Ojomo.

Snoga regarded the tower before them. "Take a look there, mateys. Near twoscore foxes crammed in there, along with more'n twice that number o' moles. Must be packed in so tight they c'n barely draw a breath ... an' any fox who sets foot outside is a deadbeast! We got th' whole forest t' sustain us, while they prob'ly don't even have any food or drink in that place. So, we'll wait 'em out. Surround 'em, put 'em under siege, an' starve 'em out! They can't stay in there forever ... an' when they do come out, they're ours!"


	10. Chapter 71

Chapter Seventy-One

Snoga was very much mistaken about any number of things, not least of which was how effective his siege strategy would be. His renegade Guosim had only surveilled Foxguard since after the expansive basement had been roofed over, and thus had no idea how large that cellar area was, or that it was accessible from within the tower, or that it was well-stocked with provisions to sustain the fox fighters and the workers erecting their new home. There was even a cistern basin, fed by an underwater tributary of the River Moss, designed into the layout to increase the future stronghold's self-sufficiency. None of Urthblood's creatures would have imagined that this hidden freshwater spring would be relied upon this early in Foxguard's history.

If the only space available to the besieged Northlanders had been that within the tower itself, conditions might have been every bit as unbearable as Snoga supposed. As it was, however, the situation was not nearly as dire for them as the shrew leader believed.

But it was dire enough. Roxroy and Belsis were far from the only ones in their brigade who'd sustained injuries as a result of the slung stones. Over a dozen wounded foxes sat, stretched or sprawled on the sandstone floors in the lambent pools of light cast by the workermoles' lanterns. Sappakit, Dijax and Haddican, three of the veteran swordfoxes who'd emerged from the assault unscathed, moved from one patient to the next, their healer's satchels in paw. While the cadets' training focused almost exclusively on their blade skills, the swordfoxes who'd served under Lord Urthblood for many seasons had been versed in the healing arts just as their first Sword Machus had been. And while none possessed the same level of skill as that now-legendary fox chieftain, their talents were equal to the challenge of gashes, contusions and broken bones facing them now.

Roxroy winced as Sappakit probed and poked at his fractured wrist. "Sorry, sir, but I don't think I'll be of much use if those shrews attack. I couldn't even hold a sword now, much less swing it."

"You can always use your left paw," the older fox told him. "I know you've not drilled much with it, but even so I'd wager you could best most any shrew that way in close-quarters fighting. And those out there may not leave you much choice in the matter. I'll set and splint this wrist of yours the best I can, so that if you survive this battle you'll be able to use it for future ones. But such wounds can be tricky."

"Sir," Roxroy asked as Sappakit went to work on his paw, "how ... how bad were we hit? Because it looked to me like half of us went down in the first moments of that assault ... "

Sappakit gave a mirthless smile. "It wasn't that bad, lad, though it is plenty bad enough. I heard Tolar give a figure of seventeen killed, plus those wounded we have down here. Most of the slain were cadets - which might turn out to be a good thing, in its own sad way, since it still leaves us most of the brigade's seasoned fighters. Andrus and Tolar are up in the tower now, keeping an eye on those savages and trying to figure out what our next move should be."

Roxroy couldn't help but notice the moles crowding the basement everywhere about him that he looked. "What about our other beasts? How did they fare?"

"Not a single loss among the moles, and we can't know about the otters, since Rontorka took his squad into the canal for a tactical retreat. But it appears those shrews won't harm their fellow woodlanders if they can help it." Sappakit described to Roxroy how the moles had put themselves between the foxes and the shrews - an episode the cadet had missed since he'd already made it inside the tower and was on his way downstairs when the incident unfolded.

"So it seems," Sappakit concluded, "that we have at least two elements of our forces those shrews are reluctant to engage. Most of our moles can handle a sling fairly well, and of course the otters are experts at that weapon, as well as most other kinds of fighting. If our enemies are intent on pressing matters, Lieutenant Rontorka and our Foremoles should be able to drive them off."

"I hope our otters get back soon," said Roxroy. "What we need now is a show of force, and unity."

"I just hope those shrews are the only enemy we have out there now," Sappakit said. "If they've got squirrels or hares or otters of their own backing them up, then things look rather bleak for us, I'm afraid."

"Squirrels? Hares?" Belsis asked from where he sat alongside Roxroy, still waiting to have his elbow tended. "Sir, you make it sound as if the whole of Mossflower's against us!"

"It might as well be, if Redwall really is behind all this."

"Redwall?" Roxroy's eyes went wide. In a flash he remembered the outpouring of hospitality he'd received during both his visits to the Abbey, the warm comraderie displayed by its residents and the sense of peace that seemed to radiate from the very stones themselves ... and how compassionate they had been, even toward the stoat who had killed one of the most vital members of their community. He simply could not conceive of such benevolent and tolerant beasts having anything whatsoever to do with this calculated and bloodthirsty attack upon an unsuspecting victim. "No! It can't be!"

"Tolar seems to think it can. He said this is the same tribe of shrews who spend their winters at Redwall. They're wearing the same headbands, and they even gave their warcry when they attacked." Sappakit gave Roxroy an unblinking gaze. "You accompanied Tolar to Redwall both times. Didn't you see them there?"

"Well, yes ... but ... " Roxroy shook his head in confusion. Of course he had seen the Guosim when he'd visited; with over two hundred of those shrews wintering there, how could he not have? But he'd never spent any amount of time talking with them or getting to know them, so he was no true judge of their character. There was no denying that the foe they faced now did in fact resemble the Guosim in both dress and strength of numbers ... plus they had indeed shouted the Guosim warcry, or at least they seemed to have done so - his exact recollection was hazy, it had all happened so fast. And only creatures familiar with this part of Mossflower could have pulled off such a surprise attack. All the pieces fit, and yet still Roxroy could not bring himself to accept it.

"But, the last time we left, the Abbess saw us off herself. She saw us off as friends ... "

"Perhaps pride trumped friendship when the summit of Foxguard started to show above the treetops." Sappakit shrugged. "Who can say?"

While the older fox immersed himself in tending Belsis's broken elbow, Roxroy sat back against the wall, pawing absently at his splinted and bandaged wrist. In his mind he reviewed the friendship he'd forged with Winokur, all the words they'd spoken and laughs and stories and meals they'd shared. He could not believe that had all been an act, and not genuine. Or that it would be swept aside so casually. Another creature might have been able to feign such camaraderie, but not an otter. Not Winokur.

"I don't believe it," he murmured to himself.

00000000000

Rontorka's otter squad swam back up the canal beneath the water like a silent school of large dark fish. When at last they surfaced, they did so with such stealth that not even the most attentive, long-eared hare would have been able to detect splash or ripple or any sound at all from the returning waterbeasts.

The Lieutenant brought his crew up alongside and amidst the cover of the barges. Under the unblinking glare of the midday sun, the loads and mountains of recently-cut sandstone blocks glowed nearly red as blood. Making a quick survey of barges and banks from the water, they spotted no sign of the warlike shrews anywhere in the immediate vicinity. Creeping as quietly as earthworms, Rontorka led his otters up out of the canal and onto dry land.

Sergeant Scudder glanced upward, craning his neck to take in the mountain of sandstone towering directly before them. It and several similar stacks provided them with ample cover - but also obstructed their view of the battle scene. "Hey, Lieutenant, you want I should climb up to th' top o' this rockpile an' scope out th' situation? I'd get a clear look from up there ... "

"Yah - an' you'd also make a mighty temptin' target fer any o' those slingshrews who might happen t' be lurkin' on the other side. Nay, we'll keep our heads down fer now, 'til we can find out more. Let's head over there, everybeast, to that pile that's low enuff fer us t' peek over ... "

Crouching low to keep themselves hidden, the otters crept from their present mountain of sandstone blocks to a lower stack that was merely chest-high. Rontorka poked his head up above his cover for two heartbeats, then ducked back down again while he mentally sorted out the image that his eyes had taken in.

"All the shrews are out in plain sight, at th' south end of th' clearing by th' forest's edge," he reported to his fellow otters. "Big crowd of th' liddle buggers - gotta be more'n a hunnerd of 'em. Right now they seem t' be standin' there millin' about, mebbe workin' out their next move. They don't seem t' be lookin' our way, an' I think we're outta sling range anyways ... " Rontorka stuck his head over the stack of blocks to take a longer look. "Aw, bilgemuck!"

"What? What is it, sir?" Several of the others dared to poke their own heads above the lip of their makeshift battlements. It was immediately apparent what had caused their commander to swear so. Many bodies littered the clearing south of the tower ... and it seemed every one bore the red fur and black jacket of the swordfoxes.

"Great stream an' rapids!" muttered Scudder. "Did those murderous liddle hellions leave not one of th' brigade alive?"

Rontorka had already finished taking a cursory tally. "Don't think it's as bad as it looks at first glance, mateys. I count about a dozen of our foxes down, though there's prob'ly more 'round th' east side o' th' tower where we can't see 'em. Then again, I can't find even one slain shrew. They must've hit us so hard an' so fast that Andrus 'n' his boys didn't have a chance t' take down even one of 'em."

"But, if we only lost a dozen or a score of our foxes," Banka wondered, "then where're th' rest?"

"They must've made it inside." Rontoka nodded toward the tower. "We saw enuff o' th' attack when it started t' see that those shrews launched their assault from all three sides, so our foxes couldn'ta fallen back inta th' woods even if they wanted to - they'da been cut off no matter which way they went. With no archers or slingers t' return fire, an' faced with an enemy like that, they would've retreated to the only refuge they had. Just like we took to th' water, they made fer Foxguard."

"Reckon those pore souls lyin' out there might've had a better chance if'n we'd gone right t' their aid?" Scudder asked his superior.

"We might've saved one or two of 'em, Sergeant, but this assault was so carefully planned an' so brutal, I don't think it woulda made much diff'rence either way. Those shrews were out fer blood, no two ways 'bout it. Best we coulda done was thin out their numbers some, tho' we prob'ly woulda lost an otter or three of our own in that melee. Most o' those foxes fell in th' first few moments, 'fore we even realized over here what was goin' on. We did right by followin' procedure an' takin' to th' canal. No way o' knowin' in all that confusion just how formidable an enemy we faced, who they were or what they aimed t' do. We had t' preserve our own forces first an' foremost, an' that's what we did."

In spite of his evenpawed recitation of protocol, Rontorka could feel the battle lust churning inside him, and he knew most of his squad must feel the same way. The fact that only foxes appeared to have been slain so far made no difference; they were all soldiers together in Lord Urthblood's army, comrades serving the common good under the banner of the Crimson Badger. This cowardly sneak attack had been an attack on all of them, fox and otter and mole and weasel alike. Unless those shrews meant to withdraw immediately, this was far from over. And even if they did, it might still not be over. Lord Urthblood was not a beast to allow a strike like this to go unanswered, and neither were his officers.

"So, just who _are_ these shrews?" Scudder wondered. "Why'd they attack us, an' whadda they want?"

Rontorka narrowed his eyes at their distant enemy. "Wager they'll make that all known in their own good time ... unless they plan on lettin' their slingstones do all their talkin' for 'em. Y' know, I could swear those're some o' those shrews we met on our march t' Salamandastron last summer. Same dress an' headbands, same weapons too. I thought they were s'posed t' be allies of Redwall. Why in th' seven seas would they be attackin' us?"

"Wasn't there some kinda split in that tribe?" Scudder recalled. "A power struggle 'tween two o' their chiefs, or somethin' like that?"

"Hmm ... you may be right, Sarge. An' if memory serves, none of 'em was all that fond o' foxes, even th' ones who swore Lord Urthblood their friendship after he rescued their kinfolk from that underwater searat craft. That would explain why they went after Andrus's brigade so fiercely, but left th' rest of us alone." Rontorka glanced toward the tower once more, where a small group of moles could be seen standing at the ready outside the entrance. "They don't seem int'rested in slayin' otters, or moles ... "

"Can't say th' feelin's mutual." Scudder's cold gaze had never left the ragtag assembly of shrews. "Look at 'em, just standin' out in th' open like that, as if they own this forest! We are gonna counterattack, sir, ain't we?"

"Not 'til we find out more. Sergeant, would you say we're within sling range o' th' tower from 'ere?"

Scudder forced himself to tear his gaze away from their enemy and confirm his commander's distance assessment. "Aye, I'd say so. Just barely ... "

"Okay, here's what we're gonna do. I wanna keep most of th' crew out here, t' keep at least some our forces mobile an' not let us all get pinned down inside that tower. But we hafta talk to our mateys in there. They might know sumpthin' we don't, an' a coordinated counterstrike might work better 'gainst those shrews than if we tried t' go it alone. Scudder, yore one o' th' fastest runners we got, an' so's Yenorick. I want th' two o' you t' sprint from here t' Foxguard. Once yore inside, talk t' Andrus or th' Foremoles or whatever beast's in charge, find out all they know an' ask what they think should be done next. Write it all out on parchment, wrap it 'round a slingstone an' fire it out here t' us. That way ye'll be able to keep us appraised of what's goin' on in there without havin' us riverdogs runnin' every which way tryin' to keep our rudders straight. It'll also look less suspicious to those shrews if they only see two otters go inta th' tower, an' none comin' out ... not t' mention it'll give 'em fewer targets if they get it inta their pea brains t' take up their slings again."

"Good thinkin', sir," commended Scudder. "One thing, tho' - what if we shoot you out a dispatch that requires a reply?"

"Then I'll just write it out on th' back o' that selfsame parchment an' fling it back yore way. If it comes up a little short, one o' th' moles can fetch it where it falls in an' bring it in t' ye ... at least until them shrews start lettin' their own stones start flyin' again. Then I guess it'll be ev'rybeast fer itself, unless we get our strategy worked out 'fore then ... "

00000000000

"Well, mebbe if'n you'd been out front with yer fighters instead o' slingin' from behind us, we mighta slew more'n severnteen of those brushtails!"

Snoga stamped over to issue Straig one of his patented smashes across the snout for such insolence, but the other shrew had his blade out and pointed at Snoga's belly in a heartbeat.

"An' don't try slappin' me t' silence neither! That might work on these other footpaw-lickers an' tail-kissers y' got toadying fer you, but not me!"

"Traitor!" Snoga screamed into Straig's face. "Raisin' yer sword to yer Log-a-Log! That's treason!"

Straig was one of the recent additions to Snoga's forces, not a longstanding member of the Guosim at all but an independent-minded woodland shrew who'd been driven into Snoga's fold by Urthblood's Northland shrews who were immigrating to Mossflower in such profusion. But he was finding Snoga's attitude almost as hard to swallow as the invaders he'd enlisted to resist.

"I ain't one o' yer pet lackeys who'll take yer guff without question, bossywhiskers! I was never in th' Guosim, 'member? Now, I'm with ya far as gettin' these foxes outta Mossflower dead or alive, but I ain't yer punchin' bag neither! I notice ye're very good at givin' orders an' dolin' out th' blame fer things that don't go yer way, but not so good at takin' criticism or havin' anybeast say boo t' ya ... which wouldn't be so bad if y' rolled up yer sleeves an got yer own paws dirty once in awhile. Where I come from, a beast who doesn't invest some of its blood, sweat 'n' tears in what it wants done has got no right grousin' about it if things go wrong ... "

Snoga forced himself to keep his gaze locked with Straig's so as not to betray Groat, who was creeping up behind the challenger shrew. "Ye're right 'bout one thing," he hissed. "You ain't never been one o' th' True Guosim ... an' now you never will be!"

Straig turned at the last moment when he heard the rustle of Groat's shirt behind him, but it was too late by then. Groat's shortsword found its way between Straig's ribs and into his heart. The ambushed shrew slumped to the ground, his wide and staring eyes glazing over with death.

Snoga drew his own searat blade and whirled it about his head in a frenzy. "Anybeast else care t' challenge yer Log-a-Log fer leadership o' th' True Guosim?"

Poss chose that inopportune moment to raise his paw and point toward the tower. "Chief!"

Snoga was on him in an instant, blade pressed to the scout's throat. "You challengin' me, Poss?"

"No-no, Boss, I ain't challengin' yer! But ... look there!"

Snoga and most of the other nearby shrews turned their heads toward Foxguard ... just in time to see a pair of sleek but sturdy thicktailed figures dashing madly from the cover of the sandstone stockpiles to the tower.

"Were those two th' first?" Snoga demanded desperately from those around him; he'd obviously been too intent upon his confrontation with Straig to pay attention to his primary foe.

"Ye-yes, sir!" Poss forced out past the keen steel edge pressed against his windpipe. "I been watchin' th' whole time! Those're th' only ones I seen!"

"Oh. Good work, Poss. Knew I could count on ya." Without so much as an apology, Snoga withdrew his blade from across the other shrew's throat and turned to face Foxguard. "So, th' otters came back ... two of 'em, anyways. Well, if they wanna go into a place we got under siege, why not? Won't make any difference either way. We'll make 'em th' same deal we was gonna make 'em all along: they're free t' leave our woods anytime they want, an' we'll promise 'em safe passage long as they leave those foxes fer us! An' if they don't like those terms they c'n die alongside their fox friends!"

Some of the others weren't too sure about this strategy, now that they were actually faced with the situation. Not only were otters fellow woodlanders who shared a close affinity with shrews, but they were skilled with sling and javelin. If they decided to make a stand with the foxes, the True Gusoim would pay a heavy toll in dislodging them from the stone tower. But one glance at Straig's crumpled form was enough to convince every shrew present not to voice their reservations too strenuously.

"Why'd just two come back?" Snoga wondered aloud. "Mebbe they're defectors from th' main group, an' all th' rest had th' good sense t' swim away ... "

"Or else they could be hidin' in them piles of red stone," Poss offered. "That's where those two came from ... "

"Mebbe we'd best go check it out, Chief?" Ojomo suggested helpfully. "After all, it ain't much of a siege if beasts c'n just walk in 'n' out o' that place as they please, is it?"

"Good thinkin,' Oj. Okay, take yer squad down that way an' check it out. Groat, spread yer team around th' north an' east, in case those scumtails try t' make a break fer it that way. Me 'n' th' main group'll stay here t' guard th' southern approaches. Any fox tries t' get past us, it'll be th' last mistake it ever makes!"

00000000000

Andrus lowered his long glass - the only one at Foxguard - as he finished watching the bloody scene play out from his vantage at one of the higher tower windows. "So, now they're slaying their own. I cannot believe such fiends could be allies of Redwall. Surely we can expect no mercy from them."

Tolar was sticking close to his Sword's side. "Then again, sir, if they're drawing each other's blood, maybe there are divisions in their tribe that we can exploit. It could be that some of them were opposed to this attack. At the very least, maybe we can wait them out long enough for them to thin out their own numbers. Then, if we are forced to fight our way out of this, the odds will be a little more even."

Andrus peered through his long glass once more. He'd singled out the shrew who appeared to be their leader, and was paying that beast special attention. He couldn't help but think to himself what unsound military strategy it was for their commander to place himself out in plain view when they had the entire surrounding forest for cover, or to so clearly carry on in a manner that marked him as the creature in charge of his forces. It would only have taken but a single archer on the Northlander's side to deprive these Guosim of their chieftain. Andrus strongly doubted they'd had this site under surveillance long enough or closely enough to be sure there were no archers here. Even if this was meant as an arrogant show of force, it was still stupid. It was the kind of behavior Andrus might have expected from some of the slaver bands and robber gangs he'd battled up north, not any kind of proper army.

"I wouldn't count on that, Tolar," he said to his lieutenant. "Now that their leader's demonstrated his willingness to slay any shrew who opposes him, the others seem either thoroughly cowed or overly eager to carry out his orders, by the look of things now. If we're holding our breaths waiting for a bloodbath to break out among them, I think we're going to be disappointed. The only way this is going to end is through negotiations, or with further bloodshed."

"Negotiations?" Tolar scowled. "What's to negotiate? They attacked without provocation. For that they deserve to be wiped out. We have no choice but to fight them."

"No choice, Tolar?" Andrus folded his long glass and replaced it in his jacket. "I must remind you that in our present position, our options are somewhat limited."

"I didn't say it would be easy. Obviously we will need to formulate a strategy. But those shrews are a menace that must be removed from Mossflower."

Their discussion was interrupted by another fox who came bustling up the winding stone staircase toward them, shouldering his way past all the other bodies that crowded the steps. "Sirs!" the cadet reported breathlessly, "the otters have returned! Two of them just ran into the tower from the canal, and they're asking to speak to you."

"Where's the rest of Rontorka's squad?" Andrus asked.

"Hiding out behind the building stone."

"Good. If that otter's smart he'll keep his main force outside so that they don't get trapped in here with us. The only problem will be keeping the lines of communication open with them."

"Sergeant Scudder says he's got some ideas along those lines, sir."

Andrus shifted himself away from the window, preparing to pick his way downstairs. "Then I'd best go speak with him at once."

Tolar momentarily lingered at his observation post while Andrus started down ahead of him. A flurry of movement on the clearing below caught the subcommander's eye. Even without the aid of a long glass of his own, this high vantage afforded Tolar a clear view of the enemy redeployment. "You'd better make it quick, sir," he told Andrus. "Those shrews are breaking away into smaller groups again ... and one of them's headed straight toward Rontorka's hiding place."


	11. Chapter 72

Chapter Seventy-Two

Seated at the center of the ferry barge, Vanessa found herself enjoying her first river outing more than she cared to admit.

The day could not have been a better one for such a voyage. The sun shone warm on their ears and faces, with only the gentlest of fresh river breezes to ripple their fur and fill their noses with the clean springtime smell of the lazy broadstream waters. The wide raft rocked hardly at all beneath them, and if Vanessa closed her eyes she could almost imagine she was merely sitting somewhere on her beloved Abbey grounds, enjoying the gorgeous afternoon in a more ordinary fashion.

But she was not content to pass away an adventure like this with eyes closed. Vanessa may have been Abbess, but her youth was not so far behind her that she couldn't remember what a little innocent excitement felt like. Her mind flashed back to carefree summer days spent in harmless antics with Geoff and Alex and Monty when she was still a novice, crisp fall afternoons when they'd fearlessly climbed the trees in the orchard to help the squirrels pick fruit from the highest branches, swims in the ponds when it was warm or sliding gleefully across its icy surface in the depths of winter, excursions into nearby Mossflower to gather medicinal herbs or help find dead trees for firewood, and even the occasional prank that was nearly the equal of some of the stunts Droge and Budsock had pulled more recently. And then there were the heart-raising incidents that were not so carefree, namely the attacks from the savage Sparra leader Grym before Highwing had become the leader of Redwall's sparrows, attacks that more often than not had been aimed at Vanessa herself, since she was Highwing's rescuer and primary champion. As she sat reflecting upon her life so far, Vanessa realized she'd already had her fair share of adventures, certainly more than most Abbeybeasts knew in their entire lives. And getting caught in a feud between warring Badger Lords had done little to simplify her early tenure as Abbess.

Yet through all of that, she'd never been on the River Moss before today. As full as her life at the Abbey had been - first as a young novice and then as Infirmary keeper and now as Abbess - there were undeniably times, when she heard the sparrows tell of their flights over forest and plain or the otters talk about their shrimp-restocking excursions to the river or the Long Patrols reminisce over times at Salamandastron and along the coastlands, that Vanessa realized what a sheltered life she'd led, and how much of the world was out there that she'd never seen or experienced. Experiences as simple and pure as a raft trip up the Moss on a sunny day when the currents were soft and the winds even softer, an event hardly worth a passing thought to her more worldly otter friends but a total revelation for her. And now that she was out here, she didn't want to miss a moment of it, even if it was only shady banks sliding leisurely by on either side and the silvery wide ribbon of water rippling all around her uneventfully. For this Abbeymouse it was all novel and new, and Vanessa almost regretted vetoing Monty's suggestion that they take their lunch on the river. Almost, but not quite; she wasn't sure she was quite ready for anything THAT new.

They had six long oars between them, and they needed every one of them to fight their way against the current, even on a day when the Moss flowed so gently. Monty and Winokur appointed themselves permanent oarsbeasts for the entire voyage, while Traveller, Saticoy, Hanchett, Alex and Mina spelled each other on the other four paddles. Only Vanessa, owing to her status as Abbess, and Foremole, owing to his kind's wariness of water, were excused from this endeavor. The two of them sat in the middle of the raft along with whichever of the rowers was off-duty at any given moment. In its center the Moss was far too deep to use even the longest staves to pole against the bottom, so it would be oars all the way.

The tower of Foxguard reared into view above the treetops long before they reached it. Monty paused in his rowing, staring up at the rising structure in renewed astonishment. "By my rudder, if that thing's gonna be as tall when it's finished as I've heard tell, I reckon there'll not be a spot anywhere in Mossflower y' won't be able t' see it from!"

"A right cheery thought, that," Traveller grunted from across the raft. "I know I surely won't sleep any better knowin' those foxes're gonna have their eye on us no matter where we go ... "

"You know that's not true," Mina said from her own station behind the old hare scout. "In spring, summer and fall the forest canopy will hide all but the largest hordes from the view of that tower. Lord Urthblood clearly intended it as a sentry against approaching armies, not small parties of Redwallers wandering through nearer Mossflower."

"Yah, but that still leaves the bally winter, wot?"

"It's taking us longer to get there than I'd thought," said Winokur, seeking to change the subject. "Is it really that far, or is it the current holding us back?"

"Liddle o' both, Wink lad," Montybank replied. "Even on 'er tamest days, th' River Moss's got a strength an' spirit to her that's not t' be denied. As fer the distance, 'member that we struck out from th' Abbey northeast so's we'd come out across from th' quarry where this barge was. Now we gotta foller th' course o' th' river southeast again t' get where we're goin'."

Winokur sweated inside his habit from the hard exertion of the constant rowing under the midday sun. "Phew! And to think Lord Urthblood's shrews ferried all of Foxguard's stone this way, and in all kinds of weather too. I can't imagine how they did it ... "

"They did a lot o' their haulin' in weather lots colder'n this, an' that'll inspire a beast t' keep movin' t' stay warm," the otter Skipper said with a grin. "Also, from what we heard, those shrews had more'n a few stout riverdogs t' help 'em with their paddlin', as well as some weasel types too. Could be even those foxes lent a paw an' some back muscle t' gettin' those blocks moved - it is their home they're buildin', after all."

"When Lord Urthblood tells his beasts to get something done, they get it done," Mina said. "It's as simple as that."

"How much longer until we get there, do you think?" Vanessa asked Monty.

"Oh, shouldn't be too long a spell, Nessa. Well b'fore midafternoon, at any rate."

"Wonderful. That gives me a chance to do something I've been dying to try almost since we took to the water." Grinning mischievously, she slipped off her sandals and, leaving them there in the middle of the raft with Foremole, padded to the back of the barge. Hitching up her habit, she sat down on the trailing edge of the vessel and let her footpaws and tail drag in the gentle backwash of their wake. "Ahh! Now that's a relief for tired feet that spent all morning marching over hard forest trails!"

"I think she's gettin' th' hang o' water livin'!" Monty observed. "But have a care back there, Nessa - don't want a pike t' swim along an' snatch ya over the edge!"

Vanessa quickly pulled her extremities up out of the water. "Do you really think there's a danger of that?"

"Oh, it should be safe," the otter reassured her. "Doubt any river pike'd bother a boat this size. I'm more concerned 'bout you mebbe fallin' in if we hit a rough eddy or somesuch. We'll just keep an eye on ye, an' if y' go overboard me or Wink'll dive in t' retrieve ya."

It was Hanchett's break from the rowing, so the Long Patrol hare ambled to the back of the raft and settled down alongside Vanessa, sticking his own much longer legs into the river. "Ah, I see wotcha mean, Abbess ma'am! That does feel refreshin'! An' I been stompin' 'round Mossflower a lot longer'n you have. Don'tcha worry yer reverent li'l head 'bout any killer fish who may be lurkin' - I'll make sure they go after me first, wot?"

She smiled at Hanchett, incapable of being stern with the irrepressible hare even in light of his recent violent transgressions against Abbey rules. However harshly he'd acted toward Browder and Kurdyla, she knew in her heart that Hanchett would not raise a paw against her - indeed, she was suddenly confident that he would in fact sacrifice himself for her if he felt she was in danger. She was glad now that she'd allowed Traveller to talk her into bringing Hanchett along with them.

"I'll hold you to that, my good hare." She winked at him, dabbling her feet and tail back into the water.

00000000000

A short time later, the unfinished tower of Foxguard loomed almost directly over them on their left. Montybank scanned the river ahead of them, and seemed to find it lacking.

"I don't get it," he muttered to nobeast in particular. "We're just about there, but I don't see a single one o' them shrewboats. Highwing said there was so many they near about blocked th' whole river. So, where are they?"

"Maybe we still have a way to go before we see 'em, Skip?" Winokur suggested.

"Naw, Wink, we're right abreast o' Foxguard ... an' look, there's th' mouth o' th' canal, comin' up on our portside. We're right where we're s'posed t' be ... but those shrews ain't."

Vanessa by this time had her sandals back on and her habit let down again. She joined Monty at his side and searched the watercourse along with him. "Well, they must have gone somewhere else, because they clearly aren't here."

Winokur glanced up the canal as they drew abreast of it. "Hey, there seems to be a lot of barge traffic up that way. And I see a lot of sandstone blocks too, both on the rafts and offloaded onto the shore."

"Then that's where we're goin'," said Monty. "All paws, start aimin' us 'cross th' current an' toward th' east banks. We're headin' up that canal!"

00000000000

"Shrews headin' this way, sir!"

Lieutenant Rontorka snuck a quick peek up over their sandstone cover to confirm Banka's report. This close to the canal, most of the trees and underbrush had been cut down and cleared away, leaving no cover the shrews could use to hide their approach. They had no choice but to cut across open ground to reach the otters, exposed and vulnerable.

Rontorka addressed the dozen-odd otters around him. "Awright, lads 'n' lasses, slings loaded an' ready! We'll wait until they're a little closer 'fore I hail 'em. Th' rest o' you keep yore heads down, but be prepared t' sling away th' moment they give us any trouble!"

"Aye aye, 'tenant!"

"We got yore back, don't worry!"

"They give ya any guff, sir, an' we'll give 'em bumps 'n' bruises that'll last 'em inta next season!"

"Or see 'em t' Dark Forest!"

"Okay, here goes nuthin'!" Rontorka scaled the side of a pyramid-shaped stack of red rock twice his own height. Cresting the summit of this miniature mountain, he stood astride the top blocks like a fearless buccaneer, twirling his loaded sling in full view the approaching shrews. "Hold there, me liddle buckoes, that's close enuff! Stop right where y' are, an' I'll pelt th' first one o' ye who raises a sling to me!"

The shrews, around a score and a half of them, skidded to a halt. Ojomo, at the group's head, held up his paw for his followers to await his orders before taking any action. He'd hoped to catch these otters off guard, but saw now that that would have been expecting too much. Of course these waterdogs would be on the lookout. They were smart beasts, nearly as smart as shrews.

"We got no problem with you, otter," Ojomo called up to Rontorka, "unless ye're hidin' any foxes back there! They're th' only ones we want outta Mossflower!"

Rontorka's whirling sling spun faster. "Well, I got a problem with you, matey. We was here peacefully mindin' our own business an' botherin' nobeast, buildin' a stronghold fer th' protection of all Mossflower, an' you attacked us without warnin'! Explain yoreselves!"

"Lissen, rudderhead, I dunno who y' think you are, but these're our woods! We've had enuff o' yer Northland rabble invadin' our home country an' tellin' us what we gotta do! Them foxes settin' up a fortress right in th' middle of Mossflower's th' last straw! We want 'em dead, an' th' rest o' you out o' here! Go back north where y' came from!"

"Well, y' can't allers get what y' want, friend," Rontorka warned. "Now, if'n y' want my advice, yore th' ones who better withdraw if y' wanna get outta this alive. You've slain soldiers in Lord Urthblood's service, an' when word of what you did here reaches that badger, he might just organize a force t' hunt you down an' slay every last one o' you. An' I'd be first in line t' volunteer fer that assignment ... "

"Then mebbe I'd better slay you now an' be done with it," threatened Ojomo.

"Try it, nastywhiskers, if ye want this day t' be yore last!" Never once did Rontorka's twirling sling slack in its menacing velocity.

Ojomo swallowed nervously, seeing that his adversary had no intention of backing down, and decided to try a different tack. "Like I said, our only real beef's with those brushtailed villains. Tell ya what: we'll guarantee safe passage fer you an' all yer mates if you agree t' leave peacefully. We ain't lookin' t' hurt otters, or any o' them moles bein' held pris'ner in there. Just leave them foxes fer us, an' th' rest o' you can walk away unharmed."

"This compound's our assigned duty, direct orders o' Lord Urthblood 'imself," said Rontorka, "an' those foxes are our friends an' comrades. We don't disobey orders ... an' we don't abandon our comrades neither."

"Then we don't think much o' yer friends, streamdog."

The otter officer narrowed his eyes at Ojomo. "You must be thick, shrew ... I toldja t' start runnin', an' yore still standin' there."

Intimidated by the icy tone in Rontorka's voice, Ojomo took a step backward, causing the thirty-odd shrews behind him to do likewise. "Don't be a fool! We got a good look at yer squad when we had this place under surveillance these past few days. We know we outnumber you at least five-to-one, so ya wouldn't stand a chance! Accept our terms, an' you get t' walk away. Stand with them foxes, an' you'll be slaughtered along with 'em!"

"Well, guess I know where we stand then, don't I? But, if ye think we'll be easy pickin's like those swordfoxes you caught in yore cowardly ambush, then have at it! But I gotta tell ya, with all this stone stacked up in piles like this, it's a regular maze back 'ere - a maze we know an' you don't. You won't be able t' use slingstones if y' come in after us, an' I wonder how many o' ye'll hafta die 'fore you figger out shortswords're no match fer otter javelins in close-quarters combat?"

Ojomo glowered at Rontorka, then turned as if to lead his shrews away. Instead, he murmured to his companions, "On th' count o' three, every shrew let loose with yer slings at that otter with everythin' you've got! Then we'll rush 'em en masse an' take th' rest of 'em by surprise! One ... two ... _THREE_!"

Rontorka saw what they meant to do before the first shrew sling was even half-raised. With the unfailing aim of many seasons' drilling and combat experience, he let his own stone fly straight at Ojomo. The round missile took the shrew right between the eyes, killing him instantly. Rontorka spun and leapt from the stone mountain, disappearing behind it a heartbeat before the space where he'd stood became thick with slung projectiles.

The Lieutenant landed with the acrobatic sprightliness common to otters, sparing himself any harm from the jump. The hard clack of the shrews' return salvo clattered against the stone above and behind him ... followed a moment later by their war cries as they charged the mound of stone.

"True Guossssim!"

"Death to our enemies!"

"Snooooga!"

The instant the clatter-smack of stone against stone ceased, a dozen otters jumped up from behind their shelter and unleashed their own slingstones. Four more shrews fell dead, while several more of the vanguard went down wounded. Those coming up behind them tripped over their slain and injured compatriots, shattering the massed momentum of their charge. When Rontorka next chanced a look, he saw the shrews in full retreat, frantically dragging their wounded away with them and leaving their slain where they'd fallen.

"Ha!" Banka crowed. "One small taste o' real fightin' an' they go runnin'! This might be easier than we thought!"

"Well, one thing's fer shore," Rontorka said as he regarded the five dead shrews laid out before him. "The negotiations're over."

00000000000

As they approached the head of the canal, the Redwallers were astounded by the sheer quantity of cut sandstone arrayed before them. Some still floated upon the water, weighing down the barges bearing their heavy load, but far more sat upon the shore, arranged into stacks and piles which, the Abbeybeasts quickly realized, were in many cases several times the height of the tallest beast among them. It was like a small cityscape of solid stone buildings, the gaps between the stacks and piles forming alleys and avenues. Beyond that modest skyline rose the tower of Foxguard, so close now in its enormity that it almost seemed possible to reach out and touch it. But still nowhere was there any sign of the two hundred or so shrews who were supposed to be here, or their boats.

"Wow," Alex said as he took in the sight. "When Highwing told us Urthblood was excavating enough stone to build another Redwall, he wasn't exaggerating by very much, was he?"

"Not by my eye," agreed Monty. "That tower's already halfway to th' sky, an' I reckon there's still enuff stone here t' match all that we've got in th' entire Abbey. Can't imagine what they'd need so much for."

"Remember," Lady Mina reminded them, "once the tower is completed, they still have to build the rest of Foxguard as it was shown to us in those plans, which means a main fortress around the base of the tower big enough to permanently house a hundred soldiers, and then a thick protective wall to enclose the fortress and its grounds. It still won't be as big as Redwall, even with the addition of the tower ... but it'll be close."

"I just don't see how Andrus hopes to have the whole thing finished by midsummer," said Vanessa. "It seems too monumental a task."

Mina pointed. "Look at some of those blocks, how perfectly shaped and cut they are. It's like a giant puzzle that's just sitting there waiting to be put together - except that it's no puzzle at all, because each block is marked, and you can be sure Lord Urthblood's moles know exactly where each one goes. Just look at how quickly they're erecting that tower."

"Yes," Vanessa nodded, "they must all be so busy working on that that they have nobeast watching this canal. I at least expected a reception committee of _some_ sort ... "

"Yeah," said Winokur, gazing up at the tower rearing above them, "especially since they're sure to've seen us coming from up there ... "

"Burr hurr, doan't be so surpint, maister Winkker, zurr," said Foremole. "They'm molers oop thurr be a thinkin' 'bout maken ee stones goo together, not looken out ee winnows. Uz molers doan't loike gurt 'oights, no zurr we'm doan't."

"That still doesn't explain where everyballybeast else is, wot?" remarked Traveller.

"Andrus is probably off putting his brigade through their usual afternoon drills," Mina said. "As for the shrews, my best guess is that they've left to join their brethren down at Doublegate. If all the stone needed to build Foxguard is here - and it certainly looks like it is - then there wouldn't be any reason for them to remain here."

"Still, funny them leavin' right afore we arrive," Monty commented. "An' where're the otters? You'd expect t' see 'em workin' these barges an' this canal, not leavin' it all abandoned an' deserted like this."

"One way to find out," said Vanessa. "We came here to ask questions, so let's put ashore and find somebeast to ask!"

Rowing was much easier in the calm canal. The paddlers nosed their raft right up to the back edge of the last stone-hauler barge, then nudged it over to the south bank. As Vanessa and the others prepared to disembark, an otter materialized from the stockpiles of red stone and came to stand over them on the high bank, jaw slack as the javelin in his paw.

"Ahoy there, matey!" Monty called out. "Mind lendin' us a paw gettin' ashore?"

"Who're you?" the Northland otter asked hollowly.

"I am the Abbess Vanessa of Redwall. This is our Foremole, and these two otters are - "

"What th' fur are you doin' here?" the otter demanded, seemingly shocked by their arrival.

Traveller leaned over to mutter in Vanessa's ear, "Well, we wanted t' take 'em by surprise, an' it looks like we've jolly well done that, by the look on this fella's face ... "

"We're here to see Andrus," Vanessa said with formal authority. "We have some questions for him, as you can well imagine - or perhaps you can't, if your fox chief here has not been keeping you properly appraised of his relationship with Redwall over the past season and a half. Will you please take us to see him?"

The otter glanced apprehensively over his shoulder, then back at the Redwallers. "Don't think that's gonna be possible, ma'am ... "

Mina stepped forward and addressed the otter in her most imperious tone. "I am Lady Mina of the Gawtrybe. I am sorry, I do not know your name, but if you served Lord Urthblood in the Northlands or marched south with us to Mossflower last summer, then you certainly know mine. We have come to speak with Andrus, and we will not be put off. Tell him I am here, and I am sure he will agree to meet with us."

"It ain't about agreein' or not agreein', marm. We're in th' middle of a battle here. Can't say fer shore whether Andrus even still lives."

Automatically, Traveller, Hanchett and Saticoy closed in around Vanessa on the raft, a living shield to protect her from violence.

Mina's own automatic response was a very different one. She was snapping the string onto her bow even as she jumped from the raft up onto the canal bank. Alex was only a beat behind her. "A battle? With whom?"

"Shrew tribe. Attacked without warning from all three sides."

"Shrews?" Alex echoed in disbelief. "You were attacked by shrews?"

"Aye. Looked like th' ones who live in these parts, too. Our Lieutenant was wond'rin' if mebbe you knew 'em ... "

"No shrews allied with Redwall would attack without provocation," Vanessa said. "In fact, the leader of Mossflower's shrews is indebted to Lord Urthblood for saving his son from the searats. He would never lead or authorize an assault on any of Urthblood's creatures."

"You don't hafta tell me that, ma'am - I was there last summer when that all happened. Which is how I know that these look like th' same ones." The young otter gave a shrug. "I shore can't explain it, but there 'tis."

"What kind of casualties have you taken?" Mina asked.

"Over a dozen of Andrus's brigade were slain, ma'am."

"Over a dozen?" Mina repeated, shocked.

"Mebbe as many as a score. The attack came while th' foxes were drillin' in th' clearin' south 'n' east o' th' tower. They were caught out in th' open under a hail o' slingstones - didn't have a chance, those who fell. We can't even go out t' see which ones're dead, unless we wanna end up like them ourselves. Th' rest made it inside th' tower, or so 'tenant Rontorka thinks."

Traveller said to Vanessa, "Abbess, we should get you outta here. Wotever this's all about, it's nothin' t' do with us, an' Redwall doesn't need you walkin' inta the midst of a bloomin' war an' maybe gettin' yerself killed."

She held up a paw. "Not so fast, Traveller. What's going on here could very well affect Redwall, and I'm reluctant to leave before we know more."

"I know Lieutenant Rontorka," Mina said to the Northland otter. "Can you take me to him?"

"Aye, that I can, an' he'll be glad t' have yore bow on our side, if you decide t' join this battle. We're staked out 'mongst these buildin' blocks just up there a ways, where those barbarians can't get at us."

"Is your position secure enough to guarantee the safety of the Abbess if she comes with us?"

"Dunno 'bout guarantees, M'Lady, but it's as safe as she'll be anywhere without steerin' that raft o' yores back out t' th' river an' headin' downstream again. Should be all right, unless all hunnerd o' those ruffians rush us at once. Then all bets're off."

"A hundred?" Mina said. "There are that many of them?"

"At least - mebbe twice that. An' we've only slain five of 'em, far as we can tell."

Mina looked to Vanessa. "Abbess, I don't know what you intend to do, but I must stay here until this conflict is decided one way or the other. Forces of Lord Urthblood's have been attacked, and as a Gawtrybe squirrel I am duty-bound to join this battle."

"And if Mina stays," said Alex, "then I do too."

"We'll all go," Vanessa declared. "I won't decide anything until we can find out who these shrews are and what they want."

As Hanchett and Saticoy helped Vanessa up onto the bank, their otter greeter said, "What they want's pretty clear, Abbess ma'am - all our foxes dead, an' th' rest of us outta Mossflower. Heard one o' their officers say so 'imself with me own ears, right 'fore th' Lieutenant put 'im down with a slingstone 'tween th' eyes."

Vanessa grimaced at this news as she gained the bank. "Was that really necessary?"

"Marm, they let loose a volley o' slingstones in th' middle o' negotiations! We was only defendin' ourselves!"

"They sound like savages!" Alex declared.

"I'd say you pegged that, Alex chap," agreed Traveller. "Only a first-rate hooligan would attack in th' blinkin' middle of negotiations ... tho' I'd not put it past Urthblood, either."

Both Mina and the unnamed otter shot the hare mildly irate glances.

After Monty and Winokur helped Foremole up onto the bank, the nine Redwallers followed the young otter into the maze of sandstone stacks, and presently they stood - or, more appropriately, crouched - before Lieutenant Rontorka.

The otter officer's eyes went wide as he took in the assortment of newcomers. Of course he knew Lady Mina ... but since he'd been with Urthblood's force that had come through Mossflower and stopped briefly at the Abbey, he also recognized Vanessa and Montybank and Alexander. And he knew Winokur better than all the rest, since that otter novice had marched with them to Salamandastron. And as for the trio of hares, Rontorka didn't need a second glance to tell they were the very same Long Patrol he'd once faced in battle. It was about the last group of creatures he'd expected to see joining his besieged squad now.

"Fur an' fish!" he exclaimed. "Abbess ... Lady Mina ... what're you folks doin' here?"

"We were looking to have a nice little picnic outing with Andrus," Vanessa said, "but our plans seem to have changed ... "

Rontorka snorted. "Yah, well, yore not th' only one whose day ain't shapin' up accordin' t' plan, ma'am."

"Your otter here filled us in on the situation," said Mina, "but we were hoping you could provide a few more details."

"What's t' tell? All these crazy shrews came runnin' outta th' woods with no warnin', yellin' an' screamin' like battle-lust-filled berserkers an' killin' as many foxes as they could. That's who they mainly went after - still waitin' t' hear how bad our foxes got hit."

"What makes you think they might be the Guosim?" Vanessa asked.

"'Cos they was shoutin' it, ma'am. That was one o' their battle cries, both times they attacked. 'True Guosim,' they shouted."

"True Guosim?" Alex repeated with as much puzzlement as the other Redwallers wore on their faces. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"If you don't know, matey, then I shore don't. But there's five of 'em lyin' just on th' other side o' this rockpile, if yore feelin' up t' darin' a peek."

"I think I will, at that. Pardon me a moment." With his innate squirrel's agility, Alex scaled the sandstone stack and helped himself to a good long look at the shrew corpses that lay beyond. When he descended to rejoin the others, the befuddlement in his expression was even more profound than before.

"He's right, Nessa. Those do seem to be Guosim shrews out there. Same colored headbands and rough tunics, same shortswords ... I just can't figure it."

"Nor can I," said the Abbess, "especially since Klystra told us the Guosim dropped Lorr off at Doublegate just a little earlier this season. That would put them far southwest of here, and on the wrong side of several rivers. Lieutenant, did they shout anything else that might identify them?"

"Oh, just a lot o' nonsense 'bout freedom an' death t' foxes ... oh, an' there was some other call in there I didn't recognize. Snooga, or sumpthin' like that ... "

Vanessa's eyes widened. "Snoga?"

"Yeah, that could've been it ... "

"Well," Alex said, "that explains it all with one word."

"Uh, anybeast mind explainin' it t' _me_?" Rontorka glanced from one Abbeybeast to another.

"Snoga is - or was - another shrew within the Guosim with a following of his own. He thought he deserved to be chieftain, and challenged the legitimate Log-a-Log at every turn. Finally he broke away from the Guosim and went off to form his own tribe. A most nasty character in all ways, from what I've heard." Vanessa sighed. "Who would have imagined it would come to this?"

"Never reckoned on that snotty troublemaker havin' so many followers," put in Monty. "What self-respectin' shrew would throw in its lot with a beast like that?"

"And calling themselves the 'True Guosim' on top of it all!" said Alex. "If ever there was an instance of pretzel logic!"

"Yeah, we'd remembered that there was some friction 'tween those shrews we met last summer," Rontorka nodded. "Now you mention his name, think t'was this feller Snoga who attacked some o' our rats, even after their Log-a-Log gave orders t' disengage. He was a louse then, an' it doesn't look like he's made any turn fer th' better since."

Unnoticed by most of the sheltering creatures, Sergeant Scudder stepped out of the tower onto the wood plank roof three stories up. He gave a sharp whistle to get their attention, then whirled his sling and shot a parchment-wrapped stone their way.

"Incoming message! Heads up!"

The stone landed a little shy of them, safely among the sandstone piles so it could be retrieved without exposure to the shrew forces. As Banka fetched the stone and returned it to Rontorka, Mina said with a smirk, "Coming under fire from your own beasts, Lieutenant?"

He grinned back at her as he unwrapped the parchment and held it up for all to see. "It's how we're communicatin' while that Snoga's got us all pinned down. Now, lessee ... " Rontorka began studying the dispatch. "Seventeen foxes dead, but Andrus an' Tolar are okay ... numerous others injured, none of 'em life-threatenin' ... no casualties 'mongst moles ner weasels ... an', er ... wait, this can't be right ... "

"What is it?" Vanessa asked.

Rontorka returned her expectant gaze with a grin that was almost goofy. "'cordin' t' this, Abbess ... _yore_ th' enemy!"


	12. Chapter 73

Chapter Seventy-Three

"Lord Urthblood ... is something wrong?"

Matowick regarded his badger master quizzically. The Gawtrybe captain was meeting with Urthblood in Salamandastron's main dining hall, reporting on the latest band of straggling searat survivors his squirrels had rounded up from the destruction of Tratton's battle fleet. Four days ago, the Badger Lord had abruptly reversed his edict to slay or drive away all searats who tried to set foot on these shores. Matowick's forces were now to take into custody any rats who surrendered themselves and their weapons to the squirrel patrols, and escort those prisoners back to the stronghold for detention within locked and guarded cells in the bowels of the mountain. What Urthblood ultimately intended to do with them was anybeast's guess.

So far over a score of their vanquished enemies had been captured and returned to the scene of their humiliating defeat. Of the Searat King himself there was no sign; Grullon's gulls had last reported that sad little convoy of orphaned steel ships far out to sea and headed doggedly northwest. It appeared Tratton meant to get back to his home island of Terramort as quickly as he could. What awaited the oceanic tyrant upon his arrival, or whether he would put into action any further designs on Salamandastron, remained to be seen.

With the smashing of Tratton's attack force, and the resulting diminishment of his naval power over all the high seas, the single greatest crisis Urthblood was ever likely to face had now been put behind them. So why did he now seem so distant and distracted? Matowick was the one who had a wedding coming up. If anybeast at Salamandastron had a right to be distracted, it was him, not Urthblood! It hardly seemed as if the badger was listening to his words at all.

Urthblood gazed absently up at one high wall of the dining hall, intent upon the bare rock there. "Yes, Captain, I fear something may indeed be wrong ... "

Matowick stiffened, his fur bristling slightly as a chill ran down his spine. He'd seen Urthblood in these clairvoyant, semi-trance moods before during his seasons serving with the Badger Lord, and knew there was seldom a time when nothing came of them.

Urthblood looked back to his squirrel captain. "I must go tend to something. I trust you will have no problem getting the new prisoners settled in?"

"Captain Mattoon and I will see to it, My Lord, rest assured. Um ... what do you sense, sir?"

"Nothing that should interfere with your wedding to Lieutenant Perricone, so be at ease about that. Now, if you'll excuse me ... "

Urthblood turned and strode from the dining hall, following the stairs and passages up to the highest levels of Salamandastron. There, just below the roof of the mountain, was the large open hangar - half chamber and half terrace - that his raptors used as their eyrie.

Klystra, resting from his morning reconnaissance flights up and down the coastlands, looked up from his bednest of straw. Saugus too glanced toward the doorway, but when he saw Urthblood striding over to Klystra, the owl stuck his head back under his wing and resumed sleeping. With Altidor still down in the infirmary recovering from his battle wounds, the two birds had the open-air chamber to themselves.

"Captain," Urthblood said to his falcon, "I am reluctant to ask this of you after all the flying you have been doing for me, but I need you to return to Foxguard and Doublegate. I fear there may be trouble at either or both of those sites."

Klystra blinked at the badger. "No trouble last I was there, Lord."

"I know. I have only just been struck by this feeling. Some factor may have come into play that was not present before, or which was hidden from me - perhaps overshadowed by these greater events that have been unfolding closer to paw."

"When do I go?"

"Immediately. I regret that this cannot wait."

Klystra climbed to his talons, spreading and stretching. "Bite to eat first? No lunch yet today."

"Can I impose upon you to eat on your way? You should be able to grab a fish or two out of the streams and rivers you'll pass over ... "

Klystra eyed Urthblood. "This that important?"

"I fear it may be, yes."

"Very well." Klystra strutted to the lip of the terrace, the south face of the mountain spread out below him, and the sandy coastal plain stretching out beyond that. The falcon twisted his head back toward Urthblood. "What to look for?"

"I cannot say. Be alert to anything that may not be as it should. Lend help to our forces if they are in distress, if you can do so without exposing yourself. But your main mission is to observe the state of affairs at our strongholds, and report back to me on the current situation."

"Understood. Will return soon as can."

"Thank you, Captain. Be careful out there."

Klystra spread his wings wide and launched himself from the edge of his covered terrace. The brilliant spring sun shone brightly from his smooth plumage, transforming him into a flashing, majestic winged missile. He flapped strenuously to gain altitude, and quickly dwindled to even Urthblood's vision as his receding form blended into the vast vista of sand and sky.

00000000000

Once Vanessa had the gist of the stone-and-parchment-delivered message explained to her, she was as much alarmed as she was amused.

"Lieutenant, I can assure you, we had nothing to do with this ... "

Rontorka waved a dismissive paw. "Aw, you don't hafta tell me that, Abbess ma'am. I'da known Redwallers would have better sense than t' get mixed up with these ruffians ... an' th' decency not t' stage any craven sneak attack."

"Apparently Andrus doesn't share your faith in us," said Vanessa. "Which makes it more important than ever that I speak with him. If he harbors any suspicion at all that we might have played some part in this attack against him, we've got to disabuse him of that notion at once, before we turn our attention to what to do about Snoga and his shrews."

"Aye," Monty nodded, "but will he be in any mood t' welcome us inside, or lissen t' what we've got t' say, if he thinks we're in league with th' villains who slew his foxes?"

"We'll make him listen," Mina said stubbornly. "If I go in there with you, Abbess, he'll have no choice."

Rontorka gave a nod of agreement. "Aye, that's prob'ly true. Ain't no beast of Lord Urthblood's, not even th' Sword o' his foxes, who'd turn away th' High Lady of all th' Gawtrybe."

"And if he learns that Redwallers are willing to fight side-by-side with his foxes against Snoga," Alex added, "that should leave no room for doubt in his mind."

"Yeah, but ... are we?"

All eyes turned to Winokur. "Why wouldn't we?" Alex demanded of the novice otter.

"As I understand the situation, Lord Urthblood's forces in Mossflower aren't any kind of formal allies of ours - we're not duty-bound to join their side in any battles they face. And Snoga has never caused Redwall any trouble directly, so we can't call him our enemy. Maybe this isn't our fight."

"Would you still feel that way if you were to find out your friend Roxroy is one of those lying dead out there?" Mina challenged.

"I was speaking as a novice of the Redwall order," Winokur replied. "For myself, I would not hesitate to aid Roxroy, or perhaps even avenge his death. But that would be a personal matter for me, not Redwall policy."

"An interesting point," Vanessa said. "But I might argue that it _is_ our fight, Winokur, or at the very least our concern. Redwall has always stood for the peace and security of all Mossflower - that's why we have the Forest Patrol. From what I'd heard about Snoga even before today, I knew he probably had no place among civilized creatures, but what has happened here leads me to believe that he's an outright menace who is capable of harming beasts who have never given him any reason to do so. If that is the case, then he is the enemy of all decent creatures, and must be dealt with."

"I am a Redwaller by marriage," said Mina, "and I am certainly going to help Andrus fight this threat. There is no question of me doing otherwise."

"And I will be at Mina's side, come what may," added Alex, "be this Redwall's fight or no."

"Yore help's mighty welcome, an' thanks." Rontorka turned to the Abbey otters. "What about you two?"

Monty fiddled with his javelin. "Ye say those bossywhiskers threatened t' slay you along with yore fox friends? Well, if me fellow riverdogs are in dire straits, what kinda otter would I be if I didn't come to their aid? Count me in!"

Winokur shook his head. "Until I know more of the situation, I must stay neutral according to my conscience. But I will defend myself, and my friends, if we're threatened."

"Let's hope it don't come t' that." Lastly Rontorka looked to the three hares. "An' what of ye? Can we count on havin' th' famous hares of th' Long Patrol on our side?"

Traveller was clearly less than thrilled by the choices left him. "It'll take an awful bally lot before we'll fight on th' same side as Urthblood's foxes. We're along mainly t' serve as protection fer our fine Abbess here. Let anybeast try 'n' cause her harm, an' we'll fight like nobeast you've ever seen."

"You ferget, I was at Salamandastron last summer," Rontorka said somberly, "so I know all too well what you hares can do. Part o' me's hopin' them shrews go 'n' get you riled up just so ye'll have reason t' light inta them. If they've ne'er seen hares fight b'fore, they won't know what hit 'em. Reckon just you three could prob'ly dispatch half their ragtag li'l band o' scallywags all by yoreselves."

"Hazard a guess that we could do just that, chap. But we won't, unless they force us to it. Even if it comes t' that, we'll be fightin' fer our Abbess an' fer Redwall, not those bloomin' brushtails who're holed up in there."

"On the subject of shrews," said Vanessa, "what happened to all the ones who were here until yesterday? We were very surprised not to see them. If they were here now, the situation would be quite different."

"They left yesterday fer Doublegate," Rontorka answered, confirming Mina's earlier supposition. "Those foeshrews must've been layin' in wait, watchin' us all th' while, waitin' an' hopin' our shrews would take off eventually. They knew they'd be outnumbered if they moved 'gainst us while our strength was at its greatest. That, an' mebbe they didn't wanna fight their fellow shrews."

"Knowing Snoga?" Alex snorted. "I doubt that would've stopped him, if he wasn't afraid of getting his tail kicked."

"Well, those Northland shrews aren't here and we are, so let's work with what we have before us." Vanessa glanced at the tower once more. "Our first order of business must be to let Andrus know unequivocally that Redwall is not his enemy of the moment and is in no way involved with this attack or connected with the beasts who carried it out. Mina, do you believe that if he hears this from both of us, he will be suitably convinced?"

"I should imagine so, Abbess."

"Good. Then I will need you to come with me. Does anybeast else here feel they should accompany us?"

Alex was loathe to leave his wife's side with so many enemy creatures so near. "I'd like to go too, Nessa. If it comes to more fighting, Mina and I could shoot better from up in that tower than we could from down here."

"Count us in too, ma'am," Traveller said on behalf of all three hares. "Our duty's protectin' you, an' if there's any chance those swordfoxes are gonna see you as an enemy, well, mayhap the sight of us standin' 'tween you an' them will give 'em pause long enuff for you an' Madam Treescamper here t' set 'em straight, wot?"

"Oi'm no foightin' beastie, no zurr," said Foremole. "Oi'd ruther be insoide wi' moi fellow molers - oi'd be no gudd out 'ere if'n thurr's a tussle."

"Maybe all of us Redwallers should stay together," suggested Winokur. "Things could get confusing if more fighting breaks out while we're split up."

Vanessa eyed the tower. "Could we all fit in there? Those foxes and moles must be pretty crowded in there already ... "

"Shouldn't be a problem," Rontorka assured her, and went on to explain about the finished basement. "The real trick's gonna be gettin' all you folks from here t' there, across that stretch of open, unprotected ground, without that shrewscum takin' pot shots at you. Can you all run real, real fast?"

00000000000

Snoga was not at all happy with the way his offensive was going. What he'd envisioned as a lightning-fast assault that would kill or cripple most of the enemy in the first wave and deliver him his much-needed prestige victory by day's end had now bogged down into a messy standoff. Most of the swordfoxes had made it within the sanctuary of their stone tower, and showed no sign of coming out on their own. It was beginning to look as if they would not be dislodged from their safe haven unless the shrews went in after them ... which would lead to such shrew casualties that the strategy did not bear serious consideration. Far better to establish a perimeter and starve them out. It might take days, but Snoga was willing to invest that time for the eventual triumph that would rid Mossflower of these foxes and garner him the glory that would attract him more followers. If those swordsbeasts weren't going anywhere, then neither was he. All his hopes for mastery of the Guosim and dominion over the paths and waterways of Mossflower were pinned to the success of this operation. Eyes were upon him now, and he could not be seen to fail. Withdrawal was not an option. Not now that he was committed.

The only problem with this siege strategy was that not all of their enemies were securely confined within the tower. Snoga had been counting on the otters not returning after they'd safely escaped and seen the shrews were content to let them leave. Then, once they'd returned, he'd counted on them staying out of the action. It was inconceivable to him that any otter would choose to fight shrews, their fellow waterbeasts and traditional allies, for the benefit of foxes, of all creatures.

But what had happened to Ojomo suggested that the unthinkable had indeed come to pass. From the confused accounts the survivors of that engagement had borne back to Snoga, those otters were dug in and well-defended, and refusing to budge. And they'd clearly demonstrated their willingness to use deadly force against anybeast who sought to chase them away ... a demonstration which had cost Snoga one of his most faithful right-paw shrews.

"Ojomo, dead? How could this've happened? You, Tarzer! Tell me how a simple encirclin' maneuver could be botched all t' Hellsgates like this!"

"Um, er, there ain't no cover down that way, Chief, 'ceptin' them blocks those waterdogs're hidin' b'hind. They saw us comin', an' challenged us!"

"So?" Snoga snapped. "T'was up ter you ta challenge 'em right back!"

"That's what Ojomo did, Boss! But we was caught out in th' open with no place t' go!"

"Y' don't say? An' how'd Ojomo get dead when alla you made it back unscathed?" Snoga pointedly ignored the fact that many of those who stood before him now were far from unscathed, bearing the bumps, bruises and scars of otter slingstones.

"Ojomo was th' one doin' all th' talkin'. Then, 'fore we could even form up fer a proper attack, that otter whips a rock at Ojomo an' pegs 'im right on th' head! Never seen any slingbeast with aim so true. T'was coldblooded murder, takin' out our headbeast like that!"

Snoga smacked Tarzer across the jaw. "_I'm_ headbeast 'round here! So, what else did them otters hafta say fer themselves?"

"Told us we'd better run away if'n we wanted t' live ... "

"Well, ya sure did that!"

"No, Chief, he meant alla us - even you. Said sumpthin' 'bout huntin' us down an' slayin' ev'ry last one o' us. An' after what I seen 'em do, I wouldn't put it past 'em t' try!"

"Okay. Shaddup now, an' lemme think ... " Snoga's blood was near a boil. Of all the things that could have gone wrong, this was the worst. A large group of formidable fighters, slingers and javelineers who could match his own slingshrews stone for stone and them some, who seemed bent on fighting to the death if they were pushed to it. And they were outside his control, not pinned down as the foxes were but able to roam about freely ... at least to an extent. Snoga knew it would be logistically impossible to lay siege to the tower and the stoneyard simultaneously, at least with the numbers he had at his command.

But there was no reason his followers had to know that.

"Awright, we still got all those beasts where we want 'em!" Snoga pointed grandly from tower to temporary quarry. "Those foxes dare not poke so much as a whisker outside their hidey hole, an' those otters gotta keep their heads down if they don't wanna get beaned. Neither of 'em's gonna be able t' move about as they please. We control this place now, an' nobeast is gonna take so much as a single step without our say so!"

Even as he stood there issuing this imperious pronouncement, an entire fast-moving parade of beasts - a green-robed mouse and otter, a second otter in woodlander garb, three hares in nondescript military tunics, two squirrels bearing longbows and quivers, and a solitary mole - appeared from behind the stacks of dusky sandstone, sprinting their way across the open stretch from the piles of blocks to the unfinished fortress.

Snoga's jaw dropped in disbelief and apoplectic rage, and his attempts to snap out orders came out as babble. "Ba ... gla ... whoof ... naa ... "

"Who th' fang're they?" Poss wondered aloud.

Snoga found his voice at last. "Foxes! Weasels! Somehow they've gotten outta their tower! They must have tunnels or sumpthin'!"

"Foxes? Chief, those ain't foxes, they're squirrels ... "

Snoga leapt at Poss and began physically beating the unfortunate shrew about the head. "Squirrels, bah! Only beasts 'round here with bushy tails're foxes, halfbrain!"

"I dunno, Chief," said another shrew, "I think Poss's right. Those are squirrels, not foxes."

"Yeah," said a third. "An' those're otters, not weasels. Tails're too thick."

"An' is that a mouse I see? In a Redwaller habit?"

"An' what're hares doin' there?"

Snoga's voice went from a shout to a bellow. "I don't care if they're toads with wings, you idiots! They're on our turf without permission, so ... _GET THEM_!"

00000000000

By the time Snoga effectively stirred his shrews to action and had them charging across the clearing to put themselves within slinging range of the Redwallers, those Abbeybeasts had already reached the relative safety of Foxguard's outer wood-beam framework. The larger and stronger members of their group made sure to stay between Vanessa and the shrews as they ran, shielding her with their bodies so that if any of Snoga's slingers drew within range their stones would hit otters and hares and squirrels instead of the Abbess. Foremole stuck to Vanessa's side, digging claws up over his head out of fear of getting pummelled.

The Northlander moles who stood in a protective cordon around the entrance to the tower were as surprised as anybeast to see the knot of woodlanders hastening toward them, issuing shouts of "Redwall!" and "Gawtrybe!" and "Long Patrol!" Realizing that the approaching creatures did not seem intent on attacking - indeed, they seemed as worried as any of the Northlanders about drawing fire from the hostile shrews - and that they'd come from an area Lieutenant Rontorka's squad held secure, the mole defenders wasted no time in parting to allow their unexpected visitors to get inside as quickly as possible.

But it would not be quickly enough. With so many bodies crowding the space inside the tower, the Redwallers could not simply stream in through the open doorway; others within had to force their way up the congested staircase or down into the cellars to make room for the new arrivals. Vanessa was ushered inside first, followed by Foremole and then Winokur, but already the first shrew slingstones clattered and rattled against the wood framework around them. This time Snoga's fighters did not seem to care whether moles or other woodlanders got caught in the crossfire, with their enraged chieftain behind them thrashing them forward and screaming for blood.

Assessing their predicament with her lightning-quick tactical mind, Mina leapt out into the open, away from the others but still within the open fortress frame that would afford her some minimal protection from the incoming volley of stones. Crouching low on one knee to present the smallest target possible, she drew an arrow from her quiver, nocked it to her bowstring, drew back and let it fly, dropping one of the shrews in the vanguard of the charging horde. Scarcely had her first shaft found its mark than she had a second arrow notched and drawn back. Moments later another shrew fell to her unerring aim.

Seeing what his wife was up to, Alex knelt down alongside Mina and took up his own longbow. Monty regarded his old squirrel friend for a moment, then shrugged and stepped forward. "Ah, well - in fer an acorn ... " he said with more joviality than the situation warranted, fitting a water-smoothed stone into his sling and taking a place beside the two squirrels.

Traveller turned to the Northland moles. "Right, you digger chaps get along inside now, an' let us proper fightin' beasts hold off this rabble ... "

"Zorrie, zurr, but uz'll be stayen out yurr too. This be our foight, an' we'm be foighten et." As if to underline the point, the mole addressing Traveller produced his own sling and started twirling it meaningfully.

"Okay, then," the veteran hare said, surprised to find such a military attitude among normally peaceable moles, "guess we're all in this together, wot? Slingers, form up a line t' either side of our two treewalloper archers! Hares on th' left, moles on th' right! Let's give these shrew vermin blood 'n' vinegar!"

Urthblood's moles proved to be most competent slingers, and were not the least bit shy about demonstrating their skills for Snoga's benefit. The three Long Patrol hares were also accomplished slingbeasts, well-drilled in that mode of fighting as they were with a wide variety of weapons, and shortly the shrews found their barrage being answered by a fusillade that was nearly as furious ... and far more lethal, thanks to the two squirrel archers.

Snoga's shrews were at an instant disadvantage in spite of their superior numbers, mainly because they were trying to charge and sling stones at the same time whereas their foe were planted in one semi-sheltered defensive arc. The shrews' volleys were scattershot at best, but if they stopped to take better aim they would become stationary targets out in the open, easy pickings for the superior strength and range of otter and hare and even mole.

But it was Alex and Mina's deadly shooting that finally sent the attackers into a retreat. By the time the sixth shrew fell transfixed by a feathered shaft, it was plain that many more of them would die before they reached the tower. What was more, even in their battle-fevered state, there wasn't a shrew among them who couldn't see that their slings would be useless at close range within the wood framework where their enemy sheltered. None of them wanted to get mired down in messy and costly close-quarters fighting with an otter, squirrels and hares ... or moles, who were now most clearly fighting against the shrews without any fox swords at their backs forcing them to do so.

Snoga, bringing up the rear, was surprised to suddenly find his forces running past him in full retreat. "Wha ... get back there! I didn't give permission fer a retreat! Attack, you lily-livered cowards! We're th' True Guosim! We don't run from anybeast!" He drew his searat sword and began trying to bat back the fleeing shrews with the flat of his blade, inadvertently slashing a few of them.

One of the other shrews finally kicked the weapon out of Snoga's grasp. "You idiot!" he shouted into the shrew leader's face. "You got us fightin' hares an' squirrels now, as well as otters! An' them moles ain't slaves - they was right out there slingin' at us with th' rest of 'em! What kinda stupid war have ya gone an' gotten us inta?"

Before Snoga could properly beat his underling for such treasonous insolence, the shrew was gone, and the others continued to stream past their sputtering chieftain. Realizing that some of the woodlanders' slingstones were starting to fall not too far from where he stood, Snoga scooped up his sword and stoically joined his followers in retreat.

00000000000

Alex and Mina put up their bows as soon as they saw the foeshrews go into their pullback, but their slinger comrades kept up a volley to encourage Snoga's horde to keep running. The tower defenders had suffered only a single injury, and that was a mole who'd been struck by his own stone when his mistimed release had caused his shot to ricochet off one of the wood beams and strike him on the head.

The Redwallers held the defensive line while the stricken mole was borne inside by his fellows for medical treatment. Once the area immediately inside the doorway was clear again, the Abbeybeasts filed in one by one, Alex and Mina coming last so they could guard the entrance with their long-range weaponry.

They found Vanessa standing on the tower stairs two steps up, overseeing the inward evacuation to make sure all her fellow Abbeybeasts made it inside all right. She regarded the two squirrels, and especially Mina, sternly.

"I wish you hadn't done that, My Lady. Too many creatures have already been killed on both sides. This situation was sticky enough without us becoming combatants ourselves. We might still have to try to negotiate with those shrews, and your actions may have made that more difficult."

Mina stood flabbergasted, stunned at receiving a reprimand from the Abbess instead of praise. "They were attacking us, Abbess! We never would have all made it inside! If we hadn't defended ourselves, some of us would most likely be lying dead out there right now!"

"She's right, ma'am," Traveller backed up the Gawtrybe Lady from over Mina's shoulder in the cramped entryway between tower and basement. "An' our slings were right out there with her bow. Those shrews would've kept on comin' if we hadn't jolly well turned their tails around for 'em."

"And why shouldn't blameless goodbeasts defend themselves from attack, Abbess?" came a voice from farther up the winding stairs. Vanessa glanced up to see Andrus slowly descending the crowded stairway toward her. Traveller tensed, ready to take action if the fox Sword threatened the Abbess in any way. Unfortunately, Mina and Alex stood between him and Vanessa, limiting the old hare's freedom of movement. Equally unfortunately, Hanchett and Saticoy had been forced downstairs toward the cellar by the press of beasts, leaving Traveller as the only member of the Long Patrol here to safeguard the Abbess.

Vanessa returned the swordfox chief's gaze without batting an eye. "Because Redwall stands for peace whenever possible, as you should know by now. Which leads me to wonder how in the name of four seasons you could possibly have entertained the notion that we might have had anything whatsoever to do with this attack upon you."

Andrus spread his paws. "You must admit, Abbess, it is quite coincidental, your sparrow Highwing coming to us yesterday demanding to know everything about Foxguard, followed today by this assault carried out by shrews dressed and armed like those who are friends of your Abbey."

"Those shrews out there are hardly friends of Redwall," Vanessa said with conviction, "as will be explained once you've shown me to someplace more appropriate to hold this discussion than a crowded stairwell."

"I'm afraid our accommodations are somewhat limited at the moment. As we have impressed upon you on several prior occasions, Foxguard is still a season away from being ready to receive visitors and guests."

Tolar's face appeared over Andrus's shoulder. "Which begs the question, Abbess, of just what you and some of Redwall's chief warriors are doing here now, of all times."

"Bad timing and unhappy coincidence, it appears," she replied, "although we might not be here at all if you'd been honest with us about your plans for Foxguard from the beginning."

"And we might just end up being the ones who pull your fat out of the fire," Mina said to the foxes in an accusatory tone. "So you should be grateful to have us here."

"I am always grateful to have your longbow at my side in battle, My Lady. And as for your allegiance, Abbess, I was watching what went on just now from a high window upstairs. It is quite obvious from the way they attacked you that those shrews do not hold you as any kind of ally, despite the fact that your group was clearly comprised of woodlanders. I fear you may have placed yourself in the middle of a situation so perilous that not even your position as Abbess of Redwall will carry any weight in getting you out of it."

"Then let us go someplace more private," Vanessa reiterated, "and discuss what may be done to get us _all_ out of this."


	13. Chapter 74

Chapter Seventy-Four

It wasn't easy finding a spot in the basement to hold their council, with most of the site's moles down there along with the various wounded swordfoxes. However, when Andrus made his desires known, a few of the moles volunteered to return outside to re-establish their protective cordon around the tower entrance, while a few others ambled upstairs to find room for themselves in the tower itself. This left one modest cellar chamber free for the Redwallers to meet with Andrus. The unfurnished space was cramped with so many creatures crowded into it - indeed, they ended up practically sitting or standing on top of each other, as was the case throughout most of the unfinished fortress - but it would have to make do.

A lamp in each corner, hung from crude iron spikes serving as temporary wall pegs, ensured that everybeast there could clearly see the faces of the others present. With so much at stake, there could be no misunderstandings or miscommunications here, either by word or by facial expression.

Vanessa quickly appraised Andrus of the history behind Snoga and the strife within the Guosim which had led to this rift among the shrews of Mossflower. This was all news to the fox Sword; when Machus and his brigade had been stationed at the Abbey the previous summer, not even the Redwallers themselves had been aware of how serious that situation was at the time. And the foxes' brief visit with Urthblood on their way to reopen the quarry in midwinter had not allowed them the opportunity to fully mingle with the Abbeyfolk and learn of these matters. But the swordsbeasts had gotten a good enough look at the Guosim on that occasion to remember their colored headbands and standard-issue shortswords ... which had made it easy to jump to a gaggle of wrong conclusions when Snoga's similarly-appointed crew had attacked Foxguard.

"I cannot express how relieved I am to know Redwall had no part in this fiendish crime," Andrus told Vanessa once she finished her account. "But you cannot blame us for thinking as we did. Do you suppose this was Snoga's aim all along - to make it look like the main Guosim tribe had attacked us so that this incident might trigger a war between Lord Urthblood and the Guosim? If he really hates the current Log-a-Log as much as you say, and has no love for Lord Urthblood either, it would be a way to set his two enemies against each other. He could only benefit from such a state of affairs."

Tolar was the only other swordfox attending this council. "But, Lord Urthblood has a tremendous number of shrews in his own army," the fox subcommander pointed out. "Would the legitimate Guosim be willing to fight against fellow shrews?"

"I'm afraid there's not as much kinship there as you might assume," Vanessa said. "The Northland shrews who stopped by our Abbey while the Guosim were still wintering there, well ... let's just say they didn't always see eye-to-eye on everything. It never came to blows, but I got the distinct impression that Mossflower's shrews didn't altogether care for the attitude of their brethren from the north."

"It wouldn't matter anyway," added Mina. "If Lord Urthblood was made to believe that the Guosim had attacked one of his garrisons without reason and slain some of his soldiers, he would be left no choice but to go to war against them. The Guosim would have to fight, whether they wanted to or not. It's just like you were willing to fight Snoga's shrews, Andrus, even before you found out they weren't the Guosim who were allied with Redwall ... and you were right to feel thus."

"It wouldn't have been much of a fight, with my foxes pinned down in here and unable to take the battle out to them," Andrus admitted. "I'm afraid it would have been mostly up to Lieutenant Rontorka to do what he could, even though he and his otters are vastly outnumbered, but my brigade simply isn't trained to fight slingbeasts on open ground. Maybe now that you're here, however, we might be able to gain the upper paw in this standoff. Snoga has nothing that can match your archery skills, My Lady." He looked to Alex. "Or yours, friend."

"Before we speak of further fighting," said Vanessa, "let us consider what might be done to prevent more bloodshed and loss of life, on both sides. We know Snoga is willing to slay foxes, and perhaps other creatures in Urthblood's service as well if they resist him, but I suspect he is not so depraved that he would go against Redwall too. Even if he is so deranged, it is highly doubtful that he could convince his followers to go along with such a thing."

"Don't know about you, ma'am," said Traveller, "but it looked t' me out there just now like those sawed-off felons are havin' a jolly old time flingin' stones at anybeast 'n' everybeast they see, Redwallers an' Northlanders alike."

"They could very well have thought we _were_ Northlanders," Vanessa countered. "They would have been too far away to clearly hear our cries of 'Redwall,' and the rest of you were shielding me so that they might not have been able to see my habit. Winokur and I were the first two into the tower when we got here, so they might never have seen our Abbey garb at all. What they would have seen was an otter, two squirrels, three hares and some of the moles who'd been here all along, returning their fire with slingstones and arrows of our own. I'm betting they have no idea whatsoever there are Redwallers in here at this moment, and it is my hope that appraising them of that fact as soon as possible holds the best chance for the resolution of this crisis. They will treat with the Abbess of Redwall - I am confident of it."

"And if your status as Abbess means nothing to them?" asked Alex. "It's safe to assume that only the dregs of the Guosim would have seen fit to turn their backs on Log-a-Log and join up with Snoga. We might not be dealing with civilized beasts here, Nessa ... or ones who will spare any special consideration for Redwall or its creatures."

"Then we must find out whether that is the case as soon as we may, so that we can rule out negotiating with them and turn our attention to less wholesome strategies. But this must be tried first."

"Abbess, I hear you speak of treating and negotiating with those shrews out there," said Mina. "What exactly do you mean by that?"

The oddness of the squirrel Lady's question caught Vanessa off guard; she'd assumed it would be obvious what she meant. "A truce must be worked out, before all else, so that nobeast else dies. Ideally, we will be able to send those shrews on their way by convincing them that if they keep on fighting here, they will be facing Redwallers as well as Urthblood's forces. Not even Snoga would be so stupid as to make an enemy of Redwall."

"He might," suggested Tolar, "if he thought he could wipe us all out and leave no witnesses to name him as the culprit."

Andrus regarded Vanessa. "Abbess, are you saying that you are prepared to stand with us, and give us the use of your fighters here?"

"If Snoga and his followers refuse to listen to reason, what choice will that leave us? Of course we will fight with you, Andrus."

The Sword extended his paw to her. "Then count me grateful to have you as an ally, Abbess."

She took the offered paw without hesitation. "But we must try for a peaceful end to this before we speak more of battle."

Mina was not ready to drop the point she'd been pressing. "Abess, a truce will not come about without negotiation, and that suggests compromise from both sides. Right now Snoga holds all the advantage in this situation, and I cannot see him relinquishing it for anything we would be willing to yield to him."

"I have already told you, Mina, I will make it crystal clear to him that if he insists on pressing this attack, then his fight will be with Redwall as well as these foxes and moles and otters. Snoga would be insane to seek such a war, and we shall hold out to him the chance to avoid that conflict as his incentive to withdraw."

"Withdraw, you say? Yes, that is the best we could hope to achieve through negotiations ... but it is not nearly enough, Abbess." A cold fire burned in Mina's dark eyes. "Snoga has attacked a stronghold of Lord Urthblood's, murdered his warriors. He must be surrendered to us for judgment and punishment. Anything less is unacceptable."

"Now _that_ is an attitude that will get us far," Vanessa said without trying to hide her sarcasm.

"He has suffered very light losses," Mina went on. "And he has proven today that he is willing to wage war against decent creatures and honorable soldiers. If we allow him to escape, it will be with almost his full strength, and it will just be a matter of time before that strength is used again. This incident might not lead to all-out war, but the next one very well may. Even if you don't agree with my views on punishment, Abbess, you must concede that Snoga is a threat to the peace of all Mossflower. We must put an end to this."

"And how do you propose to do that?" Vanessa asked.

Mina turned to the senior fox. "Andrus, could you point out Snoga to me from one of the upper tower windows?"

He nodded; Andrus was fairly certain Snoga was the shrew he'd singled out through his long glass earlier, who seemed given to routinely abusing those around him, both verbally and physically. "I could, if they are all still congregating out in the open and haven't fallen back into the trees."

"Then let me go up there with my bow and quiver. Snoga may think he is a safe distance away at the edge of that clearing, but he would be wrong. I can end this all with one shaft."

"I cannot support such a plan," said Vanessa. "Even if you are successful, it might throw the others into an uproar and make them far more difficult to reason with. And if you should miss ... "

"I never miss, Abbess."

"It is assassination, plain and simple, and I cannot condone it."

"With all due respect, ma'am," Traveller interjected, "I think this might be th' way to go. You know full well us Long Patrol have no love for these foxes or any of Urthblood's vermin, but now that we've cast our lot with 'em on your say so, we've gotta jolly well do wot'll give us th' best chance of gettin' outta this with our bally hides intact. Cuttin' th' head off of that snake makes perfect military sense. You can be sure Snoga would've dispatched this chief brushtail here, if that shrew coulda figured out which one of 'em was in charge."

"So you're saying we should stoop to Snoga's level? That just because it's what he would have done, that we should do it too?"

"This is battle, Abbess," Mina said with a dangerous lack of emotion. "Fire with fire."

"Wot she said," Traveller shrugged.

"Listen to me carefully, all of you." Vanessa's gaze travelled from one woodlander's eyes to another's. "I hereby forbid any Redwaller to take any action against those shrews until we have tried to find a peaceful solution to this crisis. If my attempts to broker a truce fail, then I will step back and allow the military minds here to take charge. There will always be time to try what you suggest later, Mina, but it most certainly shall not be our first course of action."

"Andrus," the Gawtrybe squirrel said levelly, "do you happen to have any stocks of extra arrows down here?"

"As a matter of fact, we do ... "

"Mina!" Vanessa sharply admonished.

"Just a precaution, Abbess. In case things don't go the way you hope ... "

"We still have over a score and a half of shafts between us," Alex said to his wife.

"And Snoga's got over a hundred shrews out there," Mina retorted. "Every one I can't take out with an arrow is one we might eventually have to face in paw-to-paw combat. I much prefer my bow to a blade."

"Let's see what we may do to keep it from coming to that," said Vanessa. "So, whatbeast gets to go and tell Snoga we wish to parley?"

"It would have to be somebeast they'd trust not to play them false," Alex said.

"Or that they'd not shoot on sight," added Andrus, "which rules out me and my foxes on both counts."

"An' prob'ly us otters too," said Monty, "since Rontorka slew five of 'em."

"Mina and I slew even more than that," put in Alex, "so I guess that leaves us out too."

Mina looked to Vanessa. "And you dare not go yourself, Abbess, even though a female mouse in a Redwall habit would have the best chance of getting through to them. Those killers are too unpredictable, and we daresn't put you at risk."

"We're all at risk in our present situation." Vanessa sighed. "What about Winokur? He's a novice of the Redwall order, and he's placed himself in the middle of conflict before to play mediator ... "

Monty shook his head. "_They_ don't know that, Nessa. They might see his habit as a ruse, or not see it t'all, an' just start flingin' stones at the otter underneath it. I'd not risk sendin' Wink out there."

"So where does that leave us?" Vanessa asked in exasperation. "We need somebeast who's brave and valorous without being too imposing, wise and tactful, genuine enough to win the trust of those shrews yet self-assured enough not to be bullied by them, a beast who can command their respect naturally without seeming to threaten them ... and, ideally, somebeast who's not too important, so that if they don't come back, their absence won't hinder us too much."

"That about puts th' bloomin' nail in it, ma'am," said Traveller. "I'd suggest a mole fer th' flippin' job, 'cept that shrewy bunch prob'ly wouldn't be able t' understand wot he's sayin'. All I know for sure is wotever one of us ends up goin' out there better be carryin' a white flag a mile wide."

00000000000

While the senior Redwallers and their Long Patrol escorts met with Andrus and Tolar, Winokur sought out his newest friend.

Roxroy was elated to see the novice otter. Relief mingled with joy on the cadet fox's face as Winokur sat back on his heavy tail alongside Roxroy's makeshift sickbed on the stone floor.

"I knew it couldn't be true, what they were saying about Redwall being part on this attack on us!" the young fox exulted. "I knew they had to be mistaken!"

"Course they were," Winokur affirmed, companionly paw on Roxroy's shoulder. "How could they imagine for one moment that honest beasts like us would be part of such a dastardly scheme, especially when I've got a friend like you here?'

"It just didn't make sense. I mean, it did, they way they explained all the coincidences of your sparrow chief coming here yesterday, and then those shrews looking like the ones we saw when Tolar and I visited the Abbey ... it was all very confusing. But I'm glad it's all been straightened out. A misunderstanding like that could have led to a real tragedy. If Lord Urthblood thought that Redwall had attacked Foxguard ... well, I don't know what would have happened ... "

"Now, why would we have spilled blood over a tower?" Winokur asked quite innocently. "The Abbess and some of the others might not have been too happy about it when they found out, but it's nothing they'd go to war over! Um ... just out of curiosity, did you know about that tower back when you visited the Abbey?"

"I swear I didn't! I don't think any of us cadets had a clue about it until after it started going up. And up, and up. We knew Foxguard was promised to be a grand and imposing fortress fitting for the elite of Lord Urthblood's forces, but we had no idea what its exact shape would be. We weren't expecting it to be anything nearly so majestic or ... well, towering ... and it never occurred to any of us that our masters might be keeping it from you. What do you think your Abbess is going to do about it?"

Winokur threw a glance toward the chamber where the leaders of Redwall and Foxguard were conferring at that moment. "Just now, I'd say she has far more pressing matters on her mind than that one."

"Do you think you'll be joining us in this fight against these shrews?" Roxroy dared to hope.

"Don't reckon we have much choice in the matter, judging by the way they came after us when we ran here. Those ruffians probably consider everybeast inside this tower to be fair game, so we're all in this together." Winokur's gaze went down to Roxroy's bandaged right paw. "Guess you won't be seeing anymore action in this, huh?"

"I can swing a blade with my left paw - just not very well. But if those little murderers try to overrun us, I should be good for taking one or two of them down with me."

"Don't talk like that," Winokur encouraged his fox friend. "Nobeast is taking this tower while we're here, and if those shrews try anything like that, you'll have my sling and javelin at your side, and that's a promise!"

This vow bouyed Roxroy's flagging spirits and instilled renewed confidence in him. With Redwall's warriors and Lord Urthblood's foxes standing side by side, how could they fail?

00000000000

All of Snoga's precious planning had been cast into disarray, along with his modest army.

It was now clear, in the wake of this latest debacle, that otters were not the only woodlanders fighting on the side of the swordfoxes. The leaders of the ill-fated charge - those that had survived - had gotten close enough to the tower to see for themselves that two squirrel archers now ranked among the defenders, along with a trio of militaristic hares. Most startling of all was the unmistakable sight of the tower moles standing right out with the others, slinging at the shrews for all they were worth. It was this last detail, suggesting that the moles they'd thought to liberate were in fact part of the forces arrayed against them, which caused the greatest consternation among the True Guosim.

The worst part of it, from Snoga's point of view, was that so many of his fellow shrews were now openly criticizing this engagement and second-guessing him that there was no way he could bully them all back into submission. If he wanted to survive as any kind of leader here at all, he would need to rely on tact and persuasion rather than his usual overbearing methods of bluster and belittlement. Fortunately, Snoga possessed depths of guile and resourcefulness far beyond the typical argumentative shrew temperament. There was no doubt in his mind whatsoever that he would be able to rally this now-fractious group to his cause once more.

"Where'd them squirrels an' hares come from, is what I'd like t' know! They weren't here b'fore!"

"Yeah, an' why was they protectin' them foxes? Makes no sense!"

"Makes even less sense that those moles're fightin' us too ... "

A particularly prudent and ambitious shrew named Gomon, who up until now had kept his doubts about Snoga's leadership ability well hidden, chose this moment to speak out. "That's 'cos alla those beasts're workin' fer that badger Urthblood! None of 'em's slaves, not even them moles ... an' there's nearly as many of 'em as there are of us! We wasted our time sittin' 'round waitin' fer them Northland shrews t' leave, 'cos we're still outnumbered!"

"Mebbe we _are_ outnumbered," Snoga said defiantly as he climbed atop a log at the clearing's edge to command the attention of his shrews. "But we still hold th' upper paw! Every one of us is an experienced slingbeast, an' we control th' forest on all sides! We got 'em pinned down, an' they can't go anywhere!"

"An' who's it exactly we got pinned down?" Gomon challenged. "Moles? Squirrels? Hares? Otters? Remind me again, what's our quarrel with any of 'em?"

"Shut yer gob, Gomon, I'm talkin' now! You know as well as anyshrew that we been watchin' this place fer awhile, an' them foxes're clearly in charge o' ev'rything here. This place is meant fer them, an' all th' moles 'n' otters 'n' squirrels in th' world don't change that! You want foxes lordin' it over you in yer own forest? Any o' you be able t' stand fer that?"

"But, Chief," Poss said, "there's over a dozen of us dead in this so far, an' those otters by th' canal are dug in an' spoutin' off like they mean t' fight to th' death! What if them moles an' th' rest are just as stubborn? This was s'posed t' be over by now, with all them foxes dead or on th' run an' us in charge here ... "

"Yeah," Gomon added, "didn't quite go like ya told us it would, did it?"

Snoga shot Gomon a look that could have frozen water, but decided on a course that was more honey than vinegar. "Lissen up, we're gonna stick with what we decided when all them brushtails ran inside their tower after our first attack. Don't make any diff'rence who else is in there with 'em, a beast's gotta eat whether it's a vermin or woodlander. They can't have much food in there, if any at all. We'll tell 'em what we was gonna tell 'em all along - that their moles an' otters an' any other woodland beasts are free t' leave anytime they want, an' we won't trouble 'em on their way outta Mossflower."

"An' if that don't work?" Gomon prompted.

"It'll work!" Snoga snapped. "Once hunger starts squeezin' their stomachs, those woodlanders'll be quick t' abandon their fox friends if it means gettin' some vittles in their bellies, you just see if they don't!"

"An' what of them foxes?" Gomon pressed.

"We'll slay 'em good 'n' dead, like they deserve!"

Gomon shook his head. "I think ye're wrong. We've seen that these woodlanders'll fight on behalf o' their foxes. They consider 'em comrades, an' won't leave them t' die, even if it means starvin' alongside 'em. We won't be able t' separate them, an' we can't win this if we try 'n' do it that way. I says we offer safe passage to those foxes too - agree t' spare their lives if they promise t' drag their scraggly tails back to th' Northlands an' never set foot in Mossflower again. That'll get 'em outta here, an' ain't that all we really want?"

"They deserve death, an' no less!" Snoga insisted. "They've spilled shrew blood!"

"The only fox who slew any shrews is dead 'imself, you know that! All th' rest of us who've died have been claimed by otter slingstones an' squirrel arrers. An' if we do things yer way, like we have been, those beasts'll resist us t' their last breath! We'd not be able t' slay 'em all, even if we wanted to."

Before Snoga could argue his case further, a shout went up from one of the other shrews, who pointed toward the red tower. A creature could be seen trudging toward them, a fluttering sheet raised over its head on a pole it carried.

Snoga squinted, then his hackles began to rise. "It's one o' them hares that was hurlin' rocks at us! Get yer slings loaded, shrews, an' stand ready t' let 'im have it on my command, soon as he's in range!"

"Belay that order!" Gomon yelled, raising Snoga's hackles further. "That hare's under a flag o' truce!"

This was too much for Snoga, who jumped down from his log podium and raced over to Gomon, thrusting his snout into the challenger shrew's face. "You just countermanded a direct order from yer Log-a-Log! That's treason!"

"Use yer sense, shrew," Gomon growled without backing down. "You said yerself you wanna give those creatures in there some kinda ultimatum or other. How're ya gonna do that if you slay ev'rybeast who comes out here t' parley with us?"

"He's got a point there, Chief," Poss was forced to agree.

Snoga pounced on the unfortunate Poss, who was not nearly as strong or imposing as Gomon, and smacked him across the snout. "Shaddup ... unless you wanna join Gomon on charges of insubord'nation!"

Poss promptly shut up.

"Let's hear what this hare has ta say 'fore we decide what we're gonna do next," Gomon said to his fellow True Guosim. Snoga knew he dare not try to shout his rival down again, when he saw dozens of approving nods among the crowd and heard a similar number of consenting murmurs. With Ojomo dead and Groat deployed around the clearing to guard the north and east forest edge, Snoga lacked his two most faithful supporters who usually backed him up in such situations. What was more, Gomon was a longstanding member of the Guosim, not a recently arrived troublemaker like Straig had been, and thus not without his own admirers in Snoga's band. To openly oppose him here and now would be too risky. Glowering, the irate shrew chieftain went along with the majority ... for the moment.

As the shrew army watched, the hare marched to the halfway point between the tower and the southern edge of the clearing. There he stopped, planting both large footpaws firmly on the ground and standing as if at attention, his flag of truce raised high.

"Why ain't he comin' all th' way here?" Poss wondered, still massaging his smarting snout.

"It's a trap!" Snoga immediately concluded. "They're tryin' t' draw us out so we'll be in slingin' range, then they'll ambush us!"

Gomon scanned the base of the tower, and saw only the usual cordon of mole defenders there, none of whom looked to be readying their weapons. "Nah, I think he just wants t' talk on neutral ground ... "

"Neutral, my tail! T'ain't neutral if'n it's where they can pick us off! I ain't goin' out there!"

Gomon considered this. "Let's see how bad they wanna talk ... " He raised his arm and waved for the hare to come closer.

For several moments the flagbearer seemed indecisive about what he should do. Then he stoically advanced another dozen paces.

"Looks like they're serious 'bout talkin'," said Gomon, "since that puts him beyond th' slingin' range of anybeast but a badger."

"But not them squirrel archers they got," Snoga countered.

Gomon gave Snoga a sour glance. "From up in that tower, they could prob'ly reach us with their shafts where we're standin' right now. Well, are ya gonna go see what he wants?"

"Me?" Snoga seemed surprised by the notion that he of all beasts ought to be the one taking the initiative on this matter. "But, what if it _is_ a ruse t' figger out which one of us is in charge? They could get me out there, then put an arrow in my heart!"

"Then we'll all go out," Gomon suggested. "You c'n have one o' us do all th' talkin' while you lissen, an' that way they won't be able t' single you out from th' rest o' us."

"I dunno ... "

"Well, _some_shrew's gotta go out there! Come on, Poss - if th' head honcho's too yellow t' perform his responserbilities ... "

"Wait, wait, wait!" Snoga dared not let Gomon make him look weak in front of all the others. He hastily pointed out a small coterie of his fellow shrews to accompany him, being sure to pick from the ranks only those he knew were loyal to him. "You, you, you ... and you! And you! And you and you! ... "

Satisfied at last that he had a suitable entourage to ensure his safety, Snoga addressed Gomon with a braggardly tone. "Awright - let's go!"


	14. Chapter 75

Chapter Seventy-Five

Traveller stood his ground after taking the extra dozen paces, waiting to see what the shrews would do. The veteran hare knew Alex and Mina had him covered from the tower windows, but was also painfully aware that there was only so much the two squirrel archers would be able to do if trouble broke out. The very first sign of that trouble might well be a hail of slingstones that would slay him before either of his protectors could loose a single shaft. Or if the whole gang of shrews rushed him at once, he might have a hard time escaping with his life even with his impressive hare speed and evasiveness. Traveller was aware of these risks when he volunteered to make first contact with the hostile shrews, and accepted them without an eyeblink. He'd convinced the others - and himself - that he was the creature their enemy would be most likely to trust (other than a mole) and would also have the greatest chance of being able to escape if things went awry.

The old hare tensed as a group of nearly a score detached themselves from the main body of shrews and came forward. Traveller took the lack of any overt move against him so far, and the gesture by one of the shrew leaders to approach closer, as signs that they might be genuinely interested in hearing what he had to say. He liked to think he presented a fairly innocuous sight, just an aged and slightly stooped gray hare out here all alone under a white flag of truce. If these shrews were as barbaric as Traveller and his friends suspected, they might very well attack him anyway, and the veteran scout stood poised for that possibility, to fight or flee as the situation warranted. But he, along with Andrus and the Abbess, were counting on cooler heads prevailing amongst Snoga's band.

The shrew delegation did not come all the way out to where Traveller stood, but halted with a fair distance between them. Clearly they were wary about venturing within possible sling range from the tower, or the otters hiding by the canal. They would have to shout to communicate with each other ... which was just what the shrew who'd waved him closer did now.

"Whaddya want, hare?"

"You Snoga?" Traveller shot back.

This question instigated an exchange of mildly surprised glances between several of the prominent shrews of the group. At last the first one looked back at him and said, "I could be. Who wants t' know?"

"Field Marshal Traveller, of the Long Patrol of Salamandastron and currently of Redwall Abbey. Guess it doesn't rightly matter which of you's Snoga, or if he's cowerin' back there with th' rest of his flippin' rabble. We at Redwall have heard all about him from the Log-a-Log of the Guosim, an' we know he's all about causin' mischief an' trouble any way he can. For your information, chaps, the jolly ol' Abbess herself is inside that tower behind us even as we're standin' here, an' she wants t' know what might be done t' end this latest spot of bother you've gone an' started."

"We didn't start nuthin'!" Snoga exploded, unable to contain himself. Traveller's gaze went from Gomon to the real shrew leader. "Them foxes started this, just by bein' here! We weren't gonna just stand by an' let 'em build a fortress fer themselves right in th' middle of Mossflower!"

To which Gomon added suspiciously, "An' just what would th' Abbess o' Redwall be doin' in with them villains anyway?"

"Same thing I am, chappie: we were comin' out this way for a day visit, an' never expected to be walkin' inta the midst of a bloomin' battle! For your information, we at Redwall know all about this place, an' these foxes have our leave to be here. If that's good enuff for us, it spankin' well oughtta be enuff for you, wot?"

"I don't berlieve ya!" Snoga spat. "I don't think th' Abbess is in there t'all!"

Traveller rested his flag pole against the ground and leaned on it. "I don't give a festerin' frogswallop wot you believe, ya jabberin' misfit. I'm only out here on the Abbess's say so. Mebbe you'll believe it when you see it with yer own crusty eyes, 'cos she wants to come out an' talk to you. But my mates an' I aren't lettin' her take one bally step outside that tower unless you li'l warmongers give us wotever vow means anything to you that she'll be absolutely safe. So, wotcha say?"

"If ya really got th' Abbess in there," said Gomon, "she'll be safe from us. We'd not harm a mouse of th' Redwall order."

"What'd she hafta say t' us anyway? This don't concern her!" Snoga maintained with unflagging bad temper.

"Actshully, it does, since you lot have got her an' some of her fellow Abbeybeasts trapped in there. But it goes beyond that, I'm 'fraid. Like I said, Redwall's got an understandin' with these brushtails - some of 'em have even been our guests at the Abbey, an' the vixen who's gonna be their chief healer once they get this place of theirs all built is currently actin' as Redwall's Infirmary keeper, so it'd be bally bad form for us t' just stand back an' let you try 'n' slaughter 'em, don'tcha know. Simple truth is, if you don't drop this now, you're gonna find yerselves fightin' Redwall as well as Urthblood, an' trust me, that's a war none of us wants."

Gomon digested this in silence, but Snoga's indignation was not to be quelled. "You sayin' we're just s'posed t' let that vile swordscum build their fortress here an' not do anything 'bout it? That'll happen when I sprout gills an' become a trout!"

Traveller sighed. "Listen, friend, I'm a hare of the bloomin' Long Patrol. Last summer we were fightin' Urthblood an' these foxes of his. Saw a lot of my lifelong friends an' companions fall to their blades, so believe me, I've no love to spare fer this crew. But sometimes, if you wanna live at all, ya just gotta live an' let live, wot?"

"The Abbess actually trusts these beasts?" Gomon said incredulously.

"Lemme put it this way: she doesn't mistrust 'em enuff to go to war with 'em over wot they're buildin' here, an' as long as they don't step outta line - like, say, attackin' other creatures unprovoked - she's willing to accept them as neighbors. Their former chief once saved the life of a gravely wounded youngbeast at the Abbey, so the Abbess feels she owes them at least the benefit of the doubt."

"An' what about you?" Gomon pressed. "How's that sit with you?"

Traveller still couldn't get a fix on exactly which one of these shrews was Snoga; the two were taking turns cross-examining him with what seemed equal authority ... which might mean they were both mere underlings, and Snoga still lurked back at the forest's edge with the other shrews who'd remained there.

"My pers'nal feelings don't enter into it," the hare replied. "I'm a Redwaller now, an' wot my Abbess says goes. Rest assured that if those foxes ever started trouble with Redwall, us Long Patrols will be there t' finish it. But as long as they leave us in peace, we're bound to treat 'em the same."

"Well, we ain't bound t' foller yer rules an' ways!" Snoga snapped. "This ain't Redwall we're standin' in now. These're our woods, an' we don't want those wicked, devious types stinkin' up our forest an' committin' all kindsa mayhem on our watch!"

"Your woods, y' say?" Traveller twitched his whiskers. "That's a poke - I was always given to understand Mossflower belonged to ev'rybeast an' nobeast. Or did you rewrite the rules when none of the rest of us were lookin'?"

Gomon glanced at Snoga. "If this hare ain't blowin' air out his backside - "

"Hey! Some manners, wot?"

" - then we can't go 'gainst th' Abbess o' Redwall!"

"Now _there's_ some good sense!" Traveller encouraged Gomon, making a mental note to himself that the shrew had tipped his paw by so obviously deferring to his comrade. Looking to Snoga, the hare went on, "So, can I tell the Abbess you'll meet with her all in good faith an' no tricks, or do I go back empty-pawed?"

"What would she be askin'?" Gomon inquired.

"Total ceasefire. Complete withdrawl of all shrews from this area, an' a promise not to come back anytime this season or next. She only wants the killin' to cease an' desist. End to all hostilities, an' all that."

"Not good 'nuff," said Snoga. "Here's my deal, take it or leave it: ev'ry Redwaller an' ev'ry Northlander who ain't a fox or some other vermin type gets t' walk outta here with their lives, long as they keep on walkin' an' don't look back. Th' rest are ours."

"Guess you must have mud in your ears, chap, 'cos I already told you that if you press this battle, you'll be makin' an enemy of Redwall. Right now we're tryin' our level best to stay neutral, but you're not makin' that any easier. An' even if we Abbeybeasts were willin' to just walk away an' let you an' Urthblood's forces go at it, they've got a squad of ace slinger otters an' two entire mole crews who aren't gonna abandon those foxes they consider comrades-in-arms."

"But ... but ... they're _foxes_!" Snoga sputtered.

"An' you're just a sawed-off rat. Or at least that's wot you're actin' like. You lot are the ones who attacked here, not the other jolly way around. That puts the burden on you t' pull back if you wanna see a peaceful end to this. Take the olive branch an' nobeast else needs to die this day. Spurn it, an' I guarantee a lot more shrews'll be put in their graves 'fore this is over."

"We gotta talk this over," Gomon said abruptly, grabbing Snoga by the arm and dragging the shrew chieftain back behind their fellows so they could consult beyond Traveller's hearing. "We gotta agree t' this meeting, Boss."

"Why?" Snoga demanded. "I don't berlieve the Abbess o' Redwall's in there t'all! I think that hare's lyin' to us!"

"Ain't th' Abbess a mouse? That's not sumpthin' they'd be able t' fake. If they can produce a mouse in a habit, I'll swallow that there's Redwallers in there. It'd be foolish t' withdraw if this is some kinda ploy, but just as foolish t' continue this attack if that hare's bein' truthful. We can't fight Redwallers! That's why we hafta have that meetin' - t' find out what's really goin' on here ... "

Snoga seethed. This attack was supposed to be the triumph which would solidify his reputation as the shrew to be reckoned with in all of Mossflower, and now to have it be going so wrong in ways he never could have envisioned ... but he wasn't ready to give it up just yet. "Guess we got no choice," he conceded to Gomon. "But I got a few demands of my own ... "

Traveller stood in his spot, watching the two shrews confer and waiting on their answer. At last they came to the forefront of their delegation once more.

"We'll meet with yer Abbess, if y' really got her stashed back there," Snoga said, "but only if th' chief o' them foxes comes out with her too. I wanna see 'em standin' side by side. I'll not believe the Abbess o' Redwall would ally herself with such beasts unless I see it with my own eyes, an' hear both of 'em tell me to my face, out in th' open someplace where I can be sure she ain't bein' forced t' say what she's sayin'."

"You're welcome to come back with me," Traveller offered. "Take up this flag o' truce, an' I'll pers'nally guarantee your safely ... "

"Oh, no! I ain't goin' in there! We'll meet out here, where my shrews can cover you just as yer archers 'n' slingers will be coverin' us!"

Traveller affected a hurt expression. "You wound me, sah!"

"Then drag yer wounded bobtail back inside an' tell yer so-called Abbess what I just said. We'll be waitin' ... but not fer long." With that, Snoga led Gomon and the rest of his True Guosim back toward the forest's edge. Traveller shrugged, took up his flag once more, and turned to deliver Snoga's parley terms to Vanessa and Andrus. He'd made it through this preliminary meeting without getting a single slingstone embedded in his skull, and that was victory enough for him.

00000000000

"I don't like this, My Sword. I should be going out there, not you."

Andrus calmly regarded his second-in-command. "No, Tolar, this is my place to fill, and I can do no less. I am her host, even if she did come to us unbidden and before we were ready to properly receive her. That makes her safety my responsibility. If she is willing to place herself in a position of possible peril, I will be at her side. Besides, they specifically asked for me."

"That's what worries me," said Tolar. "I am your subcommander, sir. I can represent our brigade as easily as you, and spare you from having to expose yourself to such a hazard. They will have no way of knowing I am not the senior fox here. That way, if anything were to happen, our Sword would not be lost."

"Yes, Tolar, you are indeed my subcommander, and a more worthy one I could not ask for. That is why I can venture forth with the Abbess in this situation possessed of the confidence that, if those shrews are planning some treachery that claims me, our brigade will remain in strong and capable paws. This is a matter of honor, and I owe the Abbess nothing less than my personal presence in these negotiations. I also owe it to our seventeen slain comrades to look their murderer in the eye."

The two foxes stood in the small chamber at the base of the tower. Alex and Mina looked on from two steps up the sharply-twisting staircase.

"Alex and I will be covering your every move - and theirs - from the windows upstairs," the Gawtrybe squirrel assured him "If they try anything, Andrus, we'll have a dozen of them slain before they knew what hit them."

Scudder, the otter sergeant, appeared above and behind the two squirrels. "Okay, got yore latest dispatch fired off t' Lieutenant Rontorka, an' stood on th' roof long enuff t' make shore they retrieved it awright. He'll hold his crew at th' ready t' charge out onta th' field o' battle an' join th' fray if those shrews pull anything."

"Thank you, Sergeant. Let's hope it doesn't come to that." Andrus turned and strode outside to join the rest of their negotiating team, while Alex and Mina hastened up the crowded stairs to take up their firing positions.

Vanessa awaited the swordfox chieftain out in the open framework of the unfinished fortress. At her side were Montybank and all three Long Patrol hares. Andrus had vetoed the idea of having any of his fellow foxes accompany them, deeming that the shrews might find that too provocative, but the Redwallers wanted to provide their Abbess with as much protection as they could. Although Vanessa did not know it, her four bodyguards had already agreed amongst themselves that, at the first sign of trouble, Monty would bodily pick the mouse up and run her back to the tower while the three hares held off pursuit as best they could. Andrus didn't even enter into their plans; that fox would have to look after himself.

"Are we ready?" Vanessa asked as Andrus approached. Over a dozen moles stood by with ready slings as well; they would remain here in their semi-sheltered refuge, as a precaution, holding their fire unless it proved absolutely necessary. At this range, they'd be as likely to hit Andrus and the Redwallers as Snoga's shrews, so they were more for reassurance than anything else. Things would have to go very wrong very quickly before these diggerbeasts would come into play.

Andrus took his place at Vanessa's side. "Let's go see what those shrews have to say about a fox and the Abbess of Redwall standing together in solidarity."

The six of them walked from the partial protection of the wood beams out into the open clearing, proceeding to the halfway mark between the tower and the forest's edge on the south border of the fortress site. There they halted, standing their ground under the midafternoon sun as they waited to see whether the shrews were genuine about negotiating.

It didn't take long at all for over a score of the shrews to detach themselves from the rest of their small army and make their somewhat faltering way forward. They stopped in a ragged line a good dozen paces from the fox and the woodlanders. Traveller noted to himself that the more ill-tempered of the two senior shrews he'd spoken to earlier - the one he'd more or less determined had to be Snoga - stood at the fore of this group, but the officer with whom Snoga had been vying was not present at all. The veteran hare didn't know whether to take this as a good sign, or a bad one; these shrews were just too unpredictable.

Snoga disdainfully eyed the scabbard slung at Andrus's side. "Y' came out here armed, fox?"

"You never indicated I should come otherwise. My sword is the symbol of my rank, passed to me from our first chieftain Machus, and I remove it for nobeast. Least of all for those who have slain my foxes without reason."

"Well, yew'll take it off fer me, unless y' want us t' turn 'round an' end these nergotiations right now!" Snoga raised his paws out to his side, and all the rest of his shrews did likewise. "We didn't come out here armed, an' we won't parley with beasts who are. Now lay down yer weapons, or we walk!"

For several long moments the stalemate held as shrew and fox locked gazes. It was Vanessa who broke the tense standoff.

"I will not see this opportunity for a truce wasted, if it can be helped. Snoga, your negotiating group outnumbers ours three-to-one. Surely you can see why we might be reluctant to yield our weapons?"

The shrew's gaze shifted from Andrus to Vanessa. "You really Redwall's Abbess?"

"I am ... as you would know if you'd visited us anytime in the past few seasons instead of hiding yourselves away in the wilds of Mossflower over some grudge you're holding against Log-a-Log ... "

"_I'M_ Log-a-Log!" Snoga exploded, ears going red. "This is th' True Guosim I got here - Mossflower shrews proud o' their heritage, who ain't in bed with pushy badgers or their vermin!" Again his venomous gaze slipped to Andrus.

"We're not here to debate the internal politics of the Guosim," Vanessa said, striving to guide the discussion back to the matters at paw. "You have attacked these beasts without provocation, by all accounts. My only concern now is reaching an agreement so that you will break off this unjustified assault and withdraw your forces peacefully."

"Them foxes bein' here's provocation! They got no business bein' in Mossflower t'all, an' we're justified in forcin' 'em out, dead or alive!"

Andrus set a paw on his sword hilt. "For me to pull my foxes from here would be a direct violation of Lord Urthblood's orders, and I will die before I will disobey my Lord."

"That can be arranged, fox."

The Sword's eyes narrowed dangerously. "I see all that I've heard about you is true ... shrew."

Vanessa chuffed out an exasperated sigh; this was not going as she'd hoped. "Snoga, in these creatures' eyes you have committed an act of war against them, and I can't say I entirely disagree with them. I can assure you that their force is still formidable enough to prosecute such a war, and inflict horrible casualties upon your shrews. I am surprised you would not wish to avoid such a thing as badly as I do."

Snoga glared at her. "Would Redwall really fight on these brushtails' side 'gainst th' shrews who've called Mossflower home fer generations?"

"It is my hope that you will choose a peaceful resolution to this conflict, and spare me from having to make such an awkward decision." Although she kept her tone cordial, the firm resolve in her eyes let Snoga know that she might very well decide against him.

"Let's talk peace then!" the belligerent shrew said at last, apparently yielding to the inevitable. "But first, yer weapons! All of 'em, on th' ground now! Or this negotiatin's over!"

"If we agree to place our weapons on the ground at our feet as a purely symbolic gesture, would that satisfy you?" Vanessa asked.

Snoga mulled it over. "One pace in front of ye, so's we can see if ya go fer 'em. That'd do."

Vanessa turned to Andrus. "We don't want to let this chance slip by us. Will you lay down your sword before you?"

After a long hesitation, Andrus slowly unbuckled his scabbard and laid his sheathed sword - the same blade forged by Urthblood specifically for Machus, and wielded by that first fox Sword in the Badger Lord's Northland campaigns and the battle at Salamandastron - reverently upon the soil in front of him.

"Them too!" Snoga demanded, pointing at Vanessa's woodlander escorts.

Hanchett and Saticoy and even Montybank looked to Traveller for guidance. The old hare gave a shrug. "If they're not armed, guess there's no harm in it ... " And so the otter and three hares disarmed as well, laying their assorted slings, javelins and blades before them in plain sight of Snoga's shrews.

"That's more like it!" Snoga said. "Now we can get t' what we came out here fer." The shrew chieftain turned his back to them and strode into the mass of his followers, who parted to let him through.

Traveller's eyes went wide as he saw what Snoga had tucked into the back of his belt. "Sling! He's got a sling!"

And so did every other shrew in Snoga's peace delegation, which at that moment revealed itself to have intentions which were far from peaceful. Traveller's warning was not even fully out of his mouth when every shrew had a rapidly whirling and loaded sling in its paw.

Everything seemed to happen at once after that - too fast, and not fast enough.

Fox and hares stooped to gather up their discarded weapons. Montybank didn't spare so much as a glance for his sling and javelin as he dove for his Abbess and lifelong friend to protect her.

The volley of slingstones hit Andrus even as his paw closed around the hilt of his sword. The fox was the sole focus of the barrage, every loosed missile aimed his way. The merciless rain of projectiles found his paws, knees, elbow, shoulder and head ... and with almost every impact came the sharp crack and crunch of shattering bone.

Andrus was lost the moment the stones started flying. But one of the heavy pebbles smashed into his skull so savagely that it ricocheted sideways and struck Vanessa in the temple with almost equal force. It had all happened so quickly that she had not even tried to duck or cover her head with her paws. She simply stood, uncomprehending of the magnitude of such treachery ... until the stone glanced off her skull just above her eye. She crumpled as if her habit had suddenly become empty of the body within it. Monty reached her just in time to catch her before she hit the ground.

Shielding her with his body to protect her from further strikes, the otter Skipper bellowed, "Nessa's hit! The Abbess has been hit!"

00000000000

Monty's words galvanized everybeast within earshot. As Andrus tumbled to the ground never to rise again, the shrews paused in the midst of reloading, staring at the Redwall otter who cradled the unmoving form of his Abbess in his arms. This was not supposed to have happened; the plan had been to slay only Andrus, leaving the foxes without a leader and more inclined to surrender. Regardless of whether this mouse was who she'd claimed to be, she was clearly a woodlander whose companions would fight on the side of the foxes if forced to chose an allegiance in this.

The three hares were likewise struck immobile by this turn of events. The idea of anybeast launching such an attack with the Abbess standing right there was one they would not have entertained even from a creature like Snoga.

Then the tableau was broken as two shrews went down almost simultaneously, each with an arrow in its chest. Alex and Mina were not about to let this treachery go unanswered.

At almost the same instant a fury of shouting erupted from the stone depositories at the head of the canal. Rontorka had monitored the meeting very closely, and now he and his otters swarmed out from behind their hiding places to charge full-tilt toward the shrews, javelins raised and slings twirling. They numbered fewer than a score, but the odds against them were the last thing on their minds as they fearlessly pounded across the clearing to rush to their allies' aid.

"Urthblooood!"

"Broadstream!"

"Foxguaaaard!"

Their war cries were joined by more shouts from the base of the tower, out of which streamed Tolar, sword raised high and forward, followed by every able-bodied fox left in the brigade. With them came the two otters Scudder and Yenorick, all the weasels who were currently stationed at Foxguard, and more than a few moles, brandishing slings and blades of their own. Even Roxroy joined the charge, lagging behind at the rear of the enraged warriors with his sword in his left paw rather than his bandaged right. And at the wounded fox's side, where he'd vowed he would be, ran Winokur, javelin at the ready and green habit flapping.

The hares sprang to action then. Andrus was dead, the Abbess unconscious or worse, and Montybank busy guarding Vanessa from further harm. The Long Patrol trio knew they were the only ones who could take on these shrews before they had a chance to finish reloading their slings and inflict heavy losses on the Northlanders rushing out to engage them. There was also the fact that the hares would be caught in the crossfire if they waited until the two sides started trading volleys.

Even as another two shrews fell to the squirrels' unerring arrows, the newly rearmed hares threw themselves at their enemy, Traveller and Hanchett making enough hue and cry to make up for the mute Saticoy. "Eulalia!" "Redwall!" "Long Patrol!"

"We didn't mean fer that t' happen!" one shrew frantically tried to apologize, half a heartbeat before Hanchett's javelin thrust took him through the eye to spear his brain. In the same motion the battle-crazed hare withdrew his shaft, whirled and impaled a second shrew through the ribcage. To either side of him Traveller and Saticoy inflicted similar mayhem upon the shrews before them, and on the fringes of Snoga's group two more were cut down by feathered arrows shot from the tower windows.

The shrew chieftain who'd instigated all the day's bloody events had been shouldering his way to the rear of his delegation even as the slingstone barrage was unleashed against Andrus. Now all the rest of his company joined him in a headlong retreat, racing toward the southern forest fringe as fast as their short legs could carry them. Not only had they never faced an adversary anything like the Long Patrol, but they'd brought only their slings with them for their close-quarters ambush of the fox leader. With no blades to stave off the savage hares and nearly half their number slain in the opening moments of this engagement, the rest were quickly put on the run, fleeing for their very lives.

The hares had to decide whether to pursue the murderous villains to extract further revenge or stand by Monty to help safeguard the Abbess. Traveller knelt down alongside the otter. "How bad is it, chap?"

"I ... I can't tell if she's breathin'!" Monty half-sobbed, still cradling Vanessa in his arms. She looked tiny and lifeless in his strong paws.

"Well, get her back inside. If there's anything to be done for her, it won't be out here. Think you can manage that yourself?"

Monty nodded and scooped up Vanessa's limp form in his sure embrace. His burden scarcely slowed him as he bore his stricken Abbess toward Foxguard. Partway there he met up with the oncoming foxes. The waiting hares saw one of the swordsbeasts detach himself from his company of warminded comrades to accompany Montybank into the tower. The rest of the fighters continued their forward rush, as did Rontorka's otters.

"Here comes the bally cavalry," the veteran scout hare remarked. "Let's see wot they plan on doin' ... " Traveller turned and found that he was only talking to one hare. Saticoy stood patiently waiting on his commanding officer's orders, but Hanchett was already off after the retreating shrews, vaulting over their fallen in mad pursuit of those he could still slay.

Saticoy gave a sharp ascending whistle and two cheek squelches, motioning after Hanchett, but Traveller shook his head.

"No, Satty, that hare's followin' his own course now - has been, ever since he attacked Browder an' Kurdyla. Right now he's runnin' straight toward about threescore shrews who're standin' ready t' greet him with a hail o' stones. If he rushes inta that, won't make much diff'rence whether we're at his side or not. No, we'll wait 'n' see wot these Northlanders plan on doin' 'fore we make another move ourselves."


	15. Chapter 76

Chapter Seventy-Six

Mina set aside her bow in the window alcove she shared with Alex, a scowl on her face. The shrews were in full retreat, but that hardly satisfied her.

"Damn! I was trying for a clear shot at Snoga, but the other shrews kept getting in the way!"

"At least we've got them on the run," Alex said, paws shaking now that he'd stopped shooting; he still couldn't believe what he'd seen the shrews do to Andrus ... and to Vanessa. "They'll have no choice but to break off this attack now."

"Don't be too sure about that. As long as Snoga's alive, he's almost certain to try to lead his followers into more folly. We can only hope that they'll be so fed up with how this turned out that they kill him themselves, and save us all the trouble."

"Here comes Monty with Vanessa," Alex observed, putting up his own bow. "I'm going down to see how she is ... "

"I'll come with - oh, rot!" Mina grabbed up her bow again, notching another arrow to her bowstring.

Alex followed his wife's line of sight and beheld Hanchett running wildly after the broken remnants of Snoga's "peace" delegation. "What's that fool doing! He's making right for the thick of them! He'll be killed!"

Mina's gaze went to the other combatants on the field now. Neither Tolar's foxes nor Rontorka's otters, closing in on the shrews from two oblique angles, showed any indication of slowing their charge. Any moment now Tolar would reach Andrus and the two Long Patrol hares waiting by the fallen Sword, but Mina seriously doubted the new fox chieftain would content himself with merely recovering his predecessor's body.

"Checking on the Abbess is going to have to wait, I'm afraid," the Gawtrybe squirrel said. "Our work here isn't done, Alex. This battle isn't over yet. In fact, it may just be beginning!"

00000000000

Snoga spared barely a backward glance as he raced for the main body of his True Guosim. His fellow retreaters followed so closely on his heels that their bodies shielded him from any slingstone reprisal of the Northlanders, and from the questing arrows of those damnable squirrel archers.

The shrew chieftain didn't know whether his enemies would maintain their pursuit all the way to the forest's edge, but if that turned out to be the case, it played right into his plans. Gomon stood ready to unleash a blistering hail of slingfire from their main ranks, one that would cut down any fox, hare or otter who dared to chase them into the range of this ambush. It might prove a very effective way to thin out the number of foebeasts. It would be nice if most of those victims turned out to be the hated swordfoxes, but at this point Snoga would be satisfied with any casualties at all among the foebeasts who had the temerity to stand against him.

Of course, it was unfortunate that that mouse who'd claimed to be Abbess had inadvertently been struck down along with the fox leader (Snoga had stuck around just long enough to see that happen, albeit from the rearguard of his false peace delegation), but it was her own fault for choosing to stand with so vile a beast. Snoga chose to ignore the likelihood that her wounding would almost certainly bring all her woodlander companions into this battle on the foxes' side, or that his paws shook uncontrollably as he ran.

He felt he was almost home free when he saw the main ranks of his shrews before him raise their slings and begin twirling them. Not yet, you idiots! he thought to himself. I'm still in the field of fire!

But their attitudes and expressions clearly indicated that this was no mere show of force. They meant to unleash their ammunition at once. Even as the first stone flew, Snoga threw himself face-down onto the ground, leaving it to those behind him to follow his example unbidden or risk being cut down by their own comrades.

Glancing over his shoulder as the fusillade of slingstones sailed over his head, Snoga saw two of his shrews, slow to react, fall to the friendly salvo. A third went down not to the rain of projectiles but to the reason that barrage had been loosed in the first place: one of the hares, more wild-eyed than either of his two fellows, had decided to pursue them, and now skewered one of the trailing shrews even as he ducked to avoid the worst of the bombardment aimed his way.

Snoga raised himself into a low crouch and continued his forward sprint. It looked as if only a single hare was foolish enough to chase them into the killing zone. But, given what that beast was doing to his shrews, Snoga would be satisfied with the death of that one hare.

00000000000

Hanchett's apparent sacrifice was not to go to waste. Now that the shrews were launching their slingstones, Rontorka's onrushing crew could gauge the limit of the shrews' hurling range. Stopping just on the outskirts of where the stones aimed at the hare were falling, the otters all dropped to one knee and let fly their own missiles. With the superior strength of the larger beasts behind them, their stones had no problem reaching Snoga's lines, scattering some of the belligerent creatures and causing general disruption in their ranks.

Tolar and his foxes, meanwhile, had reached Traveller and Saticoy. The swordsbeasts and their companions paused in their charge long enough to check on Andrus and make absolutely certain he was beyond all help. Finding that he was indeed dead, Tolar looked to the two hares.

"Well, are we going after your friend, or aren't we?"

00000000000

Snoga couldn't believe what he was seeing.

The shrew leader had made it back to his main force just as the otters' stones started to land amongst them. While the slinging ranks of the True Guosim held their ground in a valiant attempt not to grant their enemy a symbolic victory by yielding, Snoga shouldered his way behind them into the forest fringes, climbing atop a tall treestump which would afford him a view of the action from a vantage of relative safety.

The otters, formed into a slinging line just beyond the range of his shrews' own slings, were wreaking havoc among Snoga's forces. The confusion they caused was so total that even some of the scattering shrews failed to realize the otters' bombardment was not the only threat facing them. At least two more of their ranks had fallen with arrows in their chests. It seemed that even here on the extreme southern edge of the clearing, they were not safe from those squirrels shooting from the tower windows. Snoga wondered just how far their reach extended.

Most frustrating of all, however, was that the hare who'd started this all was somehow still alive. Bobbing, ducking and weaving with the full extent of his Long Patrol skill, seemingly unfazed by both the shrew and otter slingstones flying all about him, the mad hare had just slain the second shrew of his pursuit, and showed no signs of breaking off his suicidal charge. It appeared he was intent upon rushing right into the thick of his adversary, come what may - and the way things were going, it looked as if he might just make it that far. That hare must have been leading a charmed existence.

But it was the sight of the creatures coming in behind the insane hare that filled Snoga with both exhilaration and dread. Exhilaration, because it looked as if nearly every one of the accursed foxes was among them, running headlong into the trap Snoga had set for them. Dread, because that trap was now crumbling under the otters' onslaught. If those swordfoxes managed to get close enough to use their blades, Snoga would have no choice but to order his shrews to fade back into the deeper woods to engage in the dirtiest kind of guerilla warfare.

The balance tipped in favor of exhilaration as Snoga's gaze went past the onrushing Northlanders to the far side of the clearing. His heart soared at the sight of Groat's group, more than twoscore strong, charging out of the trees where they'd been guarding the north side of the fortress site and sweeping in behind the foxes along their left flank. Groat's force would take the swordsbeasts from the opposite side of where the otters were, and thus could extract a heavy toll upon the foxes without fear of retaliation.

"Stand yer ground, Guosim!" Snoga urged. "Here comes Groat with reinforcements! We'll catch those foxes an' their friends 'tween two lines o' slingers ... an' then we'll wipe 'em all out!"

00000000000

"I see him! Snoga! I think I can get a clear shot at him!"

Lady Mina's attention had shifted from the shrews in the front of their slinging line, who posed the most immediate threat to Hanchett and Tolar's group, to the solitary figure just visible below the trees, standing back on a treestump and apparently egging the others on. Mina drew back her bowstring and sighted along her nocked shaft.

"Time now to do what we should have done at the start ... now if that little scumnose will just hold still long enough ... "

At that moment a mole came hastening down the curve of the tower stairs above them, waving his digging claws before him in excitement.

"Excuse oi, squirrelz zurrs, but thurr's more of ee shrewzers coomin' 'round from ee north! They'm be troiyin' t' trap Maister Tolar in a pincher manoover, burr hurr!"

Alex and Mina both lowered their bows. "What should we do now?" the Redwall squirrel asked his wife.

Mina's gaze never left the view out their window. Their lofty vantage faced south, so of course they could not see the shrew reinforcements rushing in from the north to ambush Tolar. Eventually, as they ran past the east side of the tower to join the fray, Mina was sure they would come into view ... but by then it would be too late, for they would be within slinging range of the swordfoxes and their supporters, able to inflict heavy casualties among the Northlanders before Mina and Alex would have any hope of thinning out their ranks to the point where it would matter.

Without hesitation, Mina threw her bow out the window. It clattered against the wood planking a story below, the temporary roof of the main fortress that would encircle the tower. As soon as her weapon was down, Mina hurdled the windowsill and flung herself after it.

"Mina!"

She landed hard on her left footpaw, her usual squirrel agility outweighed by her urgent haste. Grabbing up her bow, Mina limped around to the east face of the tower and set herself up on the plank roof's edge where she had a clear view of Groat's oncoming shrews.

Rather than follow his wife out onto the roof, Alex ran up the stairs past the mole who'd alerted them to this danger, stopping before the first east-facing window he came to. He wanted to be able to keep an eye on Mina and join her in shooting at the enemy shrews if that proved necessary.

It didn't. By the time Alex jostled his way to the east window, he saw that Mina had entered one of her rare shooting trances of the sort he'd only witnessed twice before: once during an archery contest at the Abbey, and once during the battle at Salamandastron, when her rapid-fire shooting had claimed three hares in a matter of heartbeats. Now she'd transformed herself the same kind of archery machine again, launching her shafts in such quick succession that she was notching a new arrow to her bowstring even as the previous one found its mark ... and every one found its mark.

Within moments, over a dozen of Groat's shrews lay felled by this one-squirrel barrage. Finding her supply of arrows exhausted, Mina glanced wildly all about her. Spying her husband gazing down at her from two stories above, she yelled, "Alex! Throw me your quiver!"

He almost hesitated, but her tone of command was not to be disobeyed. Alex unslung his quiver from his shoulder and tossed it out to her, careful to keep it upright so that the precious shafts would not spill out over the roof planks, forcing Mina to waste irretrievable moments chasing after them on her sprained ankle.

Mina caught the quiver adroitly without even putting down her bow, laid it alongside her on the roof, and plucked out an arrow to recommence her shooting. By the third shot she'd recaptured her rhythm, grabbing up the arrows, laying them to her drawn bowstring and unleashing them with her usual deadly accuracy, one after the other, all in a smooth, continuous flow.

Half of Groat's force - including Groat himself - had been taken down by the time she ran out of arrows again, and the other half were running for the shelter of the forest as fast as they could, their charge to their comrades' rescue totally abandoned in their panic to save themselves. This counteroffensive by the shrews had been crushed.

Mina, bow in paw, rose from her shooter's crouch and hobbled toward the south expanse of the temporary roof. "Alex, get back down to the other window!" she shouted. "And see if you can find more arrows! I'll meet you there. Tolar might need us yet!"

00000000000

Snoga's heart fell along with his jaw as he watched Groat's flanking ambush crumble and disintegrate before his eyes. They were his last hope for gaining him a decisive victory here, and now they were scattered and running for their lives from the field of battle. Half of them were, at any rate; the other half lay about the clearing transfixed by the squirrels' feathered shafts, dead or dying.

His own forces were faring little better. The otters' barrage did not let up for one instant, and while their slingstones inflicted few serious casualties among the shrews, this unrelenting salvo disrupted Snoga's ranks too much for them to return fire in any meaningful way. The otters were beyond the shrews' range anyway, but their hail of missiles also kept Snoga's slingers from effectively engaging the foxes and their companions who were charging toward the shrew lines from the tower. This main force of Northlanders was now so close that the two hares and several of the moles accompanying the swordsbeasts were adding slingstones of their own to the bombardment raining down on the shrews. These on-the-run efforts were scattershot at best, but they helped keep the shrews from rallying to shoot back with what could have been deadly results.

And up in the tower, Alex and Mina had equipped themselves with fresh supplies of arrows and were about to add their own shafts to the onslaught against Snoga.

Through all of this, Hanchett somehow managed to avoid anything worse than the most glancing of blows from slingstones launched by enemy and ally alike. The wild-eyed hare had slain his second shrew since leaving behind his two Long Patrol comrades and now closed in on a third, unheeding of the panicked shrews slinging at him from near point blank range or brandishing their shortswords to greet his arrival. Hanchett was twice as swift as any shrew, which had enabled him to overtake the stragglers from Snoga's delegation with ease, and the lethal reach of his javelin simply could not be matched by the shrews' much shorter blades. Hanchett also had the advantages of superior size and strength, superb physical conditioning, expert military training, and his natural hare's quickness and kicking ability. No individual shrew would stand a chance against him in paw-to-paw combat, but Hanchett was in such a manic state that he would not shy away from taking on many of Snoga's fighters at once. The shrew chieftain, assessing Hanchett's unstoppable approach from atop his treestump, could see that such a berserker would wreak utter havoc in his ranks before he could be slain. Worse, two more of those perilous hares were even now rushing to his aid, along with that small horde of foxes. If those swordsbeasts reached his shrew line intact - as now seemed likely, since Snoga's slingers were having little effect upon the oncoming Northlanders - his True Guosim would be sliced to ribbons.

Even Snoga knew when the tide of battle had turned against him, when it was time to cut and run. Swallowing his pride and forcing down his ambition, he hopped down from his stump to sound a retreat. Little did he realize that this decision saved his life, since Lady Mina had lined up her shot on Snoga from the fortress roof and was moments from releasing her shaft. The arrow meant for him found its way into the heart of a shrew in the front lines instead as Snoga melded into the mass of milling Guosim in the rear, becoming indistinguishable from his fellows.

"Retreat! Fall back! Run away! Every shrew fer itself! Fade back inta the woods, an' rendezvous by th' boats! We'll regroup there!"

And with that, Snoga turned and led the hasty retreat by providing an excellent example for his shrews to follow, sprinting south into the deeper woods with the utmost speed.

The rest of the True Guosim required no second bidding to turn tail and flee into Mossflower. Tolar and his swordfoxes would not have their revenge this day; the forest edge was clear of shrews long before they got there.

Hanchett, of course, was ahead of them all. Breathing hard as he stood over his third victim, the young hare paused a moment, watching the shattered shrew forces disappearing into the shaded woods.

"Hanch, hold up!" Traveller called to him from several dozen paces away. Hanchett studied his superior officer, then glanced back into the woods. He still saw red, and could not shake the mental image of Vanessa going down. The way she had crumpled, she simply could not have survived that blow. The vision fired him up inside, compelling him to action. He had nothing to go back to at Redwall, not after what had happened with Browder and Kurdyla. If he returned to the Abbey, it would only be to have a judgment of banishment imposed on him anyway. It might be the place where his fellow Long Patrols would call home for the rest of their seasons, but he had no home. Not anymore.

And still the picture of the Abbess being struck down played itself over and over before his mind's eye. This might have been the same mouse who would have declared him an exile from Redwall, but that didn't matter. Those shrews had committed an unforgivable treachery against the most noble of woodlanders. And for that they must pay.

Hanchett turned his back on his only remaining friends and vaulted into the woods after the shrews.

00000000000

"I should be out there."

"You an' me both, matey," Montybank said, looking across Vanessa's still form at Sappakit. "But we got more immediate concerns t' tend to ... "

Fox and otter squatted in the cellar of the incomplete fortress amidst the other members of Andrus's brigade who'd suffered injuries in the shrews' initial surprise attack. The Abbess lay on the floor between them, unconscious, occupying Roxroy's now-vacant spot. Sappakit, who'd been designated chief healer by Andrus before he'd gone out for his ill-fated meeting with Snoga, ministered to Vanessa with the full extent of his skill, in spite of the distracting and nagging knowledge that a battle was unfolding outside without him.

"I don't think it's as bad as it looked at first," Sappakit concluded as he finished examining his important patient. "I won't know for certain until she wakes, of course, but her breathing and heartbeat seem stable, and that's usually a good sign. Fortunately she only took a glancing blow, but still, she will need to be watched most closely."

"That is a pretty nasty-lookin' welt she's got on her temple," Monty worried. "An' th' way Nessa went down, t'was like all th' life had been knocked clear outta her. I was really afeared she was gone ... "

"She's not out of danger yet. Head wounds can be very tricky. I'd feel a lot better if she were awake and cogent."

"Uh huh. Um, what's th' biggest danger facin' her now, if'n y' hadta guess?"

"A blood clot or swelling on the brain could keep her comatose indefinitely, or worse," Sappakit replied somberly. "Short of that, she could wake to find herself temporarily or permanently blind in the left eye, below where the stone struck her. She might suffer headaches, dizziness or disorientation for quite some time after she wakes, perhaps into next season. And, whenever dealing with injuries to the front of the brain, there's always the possibility of temporary or even long-term mental effects."

"What's that mean?"

"I've known soldiers to suffer front head wounds in battle who've survived in perfect physical health, but were forever different beasts after the experience. It can be as simple as a chronic lack of concentration ... insomnia or its opposite, narcolepsy ... even the inability to form new memories. But there are more extreme cases as well. Aggressive and fearless warriors can become docile, timid, even cowardly, while sharp minds can become slow. And it can sometimes work the other way too; souls who were friendly and outgoing can become nasty, withdrawn, melancholy, or even violent and murderous without reason. It's rare, but such things do happen."

Monty shook his head. "I've known Nessa since we was both youngbeasts. Can't 'magine her bein' aught but the mouse she's allers been."

At that moment Vanessa's eyelids fluttered, then parted and stayed open, her dark eyes glistening in the mellow lamplight. Monty took her paw in his own, clasping it firmly. "Easy now, me liddle messmate!" he said softly. "Just lay there an' take it gentle, an' don't try 'n' get up."

"Abbess," Sappakit intoned from her other side, "do you know where you are?"

She looked around her, blinking in confusion. "I ... I have no idea."

Monty patted her paw reassuringly. "Don't you worry, Nessa - I'll get yer all filled in on ev'rything. Been a busy day, so no surprise if some of it's slipped yer mind."

She stared at her old otter friend with a lost expression. "Nessa? Is that my name? Because I honestly haven't a clue who I am!"

00000000000

Once Tolar decided not to pursue Snoga into the deep woods, the swordfox turned his attention to what needed to be done next. While a few teams of the swordsbeasts joined Rontorka's otters and even some of the moles in patrols along the south edge of the clearing to guard against the shrews' possible return, the rest of the foxes and their mole allies started on the burial duties.

Traveller and Saticoy made checking on the condition of the Abbess their first order of business. Winokur naturally wished to join them, but all three Redwallers briefly joined Tolar and the other foxes in standing solemnly over the shattered and lifeless form of Andrus.

"And so we have lost another Sword - our second in the last three seasons - and that title now passes to me," Tolar declared to those gathered around him. "I know not whether our wise and noble Andrus will have statues and monuments built to honor him, nor whether I can hope to be as good a Sword as he was. I know only that he was struck down by treachery, in the course of a battle thrust upon us by cowards." His gaze travelled across the clearing, taking in the scores of fox and shrew corpses littering the field. "And I know that too many beasts died needlessly this day. Now, let me go see to the Abbess, and pray she is not among those who have seen their last sunrise."

The new Sword of Urthblood's foxes led the trio of Abbeybeasts across the clearing toward the tower, leaving the other foxes to see to the task of identifying all their slain comrades, and the moles to dig the graves. Andrus had already declared that each fox slain in this engagement would receive the honor of an individual marked grave; he probably had not bargained on his own being among them when he'd made that pronouncement. As for the shrews, they certainly would not be granted comparable interment. Their dishonorable behavior precluded that out-of-paw.

"I thought the two of you would go after the shrews along with your fellow hare," Tolar remarked to Traveller and Saticoy. "When I saw you hesitate at the forest's edge, that was when I decided to halt my foxes as well. I figured if the legendary hares of the Long Patrol weren't going to risk a pursuit through the thick of Mossflower, then I certainly wasn't either. Besides, my place is here where Lord Urthblood has assigned me, not out in the forest hunting down those shrews. Now that we have thinned out their ranks and put the survivors on the run, I will not pursue the matter further unless they return ... although I have a feeling Lady Mina may not see eye-to-eye with me on that score."

"She is a militant one, that," Traveller agreed. "Never seen a beast wot could shoot like her. With that bushtailed arrow dispatcher fightin' 'gainst us last summer at Salamandastron, it's no wonder we weren't able to retake th' mountain, wot?"

"I think my own brigade may have had a thing or two to do with that as well," said Tolar, causing the two hares to bristle. "But let us hope," he added quickly, "that such things are behind us forever."

"Yes, let us hope so," agreed Winokur, himself a witness to that battle. "So, will you continue with the construction of Foxguard, Tolar?"

"Of course. I can do naught else, unless I receive new orders from Lord Urthblood instructing me otherwise."

"Even after today?" Traveller demanded of their host. "Those shrews, nasty as they were, might not be the only folk hereabouts who have a problem with you foxes buildin' a fortress here. There may be more attacks on you ... an' next time, we may not be here t' win your jolly battle for you."

"Especially after today, Field Marshal," Tolar returned, addressing Traveller by his formal rank. "For today, Foxguard and Redwall have stood side by side as allies in battle. I will not forget that, and neither will any of the residents in this part of Mossflower. When word spreads of what has happened here - that Redwall and Foxguard stand united in the interests of peace and security - then nobeast else will dare attack us."

Saticoy whistled and clacked a question that Traveller translated as, "Is that true?" The older hare reluctantly nodded. "Yeah, Satty ol' chum, I guess we were allies, for this one day at least."

"Sir?" Winokur asked Traveller. "Why didn't you and Saticoy go after Hanchett? Or more to the point, why did he run off after the shrews like that, even when he saw that none of us would be joining him? What does he think to accomplish?"

"Assumin' he's thinkin' at all, Wink, an' not just chasin' those sawed-off reprobates in a blind rage, there's no bally end t' wot he could do. At th' very least he'll keep 'em on the run. Even if they turned on him in force, I wager he could take another dozen of Snoga's hooligans with him ... which would provide 'em with further incentive not t' double back our way for another go at us. But's more likely he'll trail 'em discreetly, harryin' their rearguard an' pickin' 'em off one or two at a time. That could amount to a bloomin' lot of dead shrews, if Hanch keeps it up for days. Those ruffians went an' messed with the wrong hare this time, don'tcha know."

"You talk about him like he's already dead."

Traveller sighed. "Something inside Hanchett's been dead ever since we lost Lord Urthfist an' Salamandastron. He never was the same hare after that. We all knew he'd not be comin' back to the Abbey with us on this trip, Wink. I got a glimpse of Hanchett's eyes after the Abbess fell, an' it wasn't pretty. I can tell you that he's chosen t' make this his final battle, an' he'll chase Snoga to the ends of Mossflower to see that shrew dead. In all truth, I don't expect t' see Hanch alive again."

A piercing skyhunter's cry sounded above them. Glancing up, they beheld the falcon Klystra circling high above the scene of carnage. As they watched, the tunic-clad raptor slowly swooped downward, closing his circle and gradually settling on the ground by the other swordfoxes.

Tolar glanced several times between tower and falcon, clearly torn between his desire to check on the Abbess and his duty to report to the winged messenger. Finally he turned toward Klystra. "You three, go on inside. I'll be along presently. Lord Urthblood wouldn't have sent Klystra without reason, not so soon after that bird's last visit here, and I must see to this at once. His presence could have something to do with the battle we fought here today."

"But, if Lord Urthblood's all the way out at Salamandastron, how could he possibly have known ... " Winokur started to ask, then let his voice trail off, suspecting he could supply his own answer.

Tolar confirmed Wink's suspicions. "Sometimes he just ... knows." The swordfox shrugged, then stalked off to hear what Klystra had to say.


	16. Chapter 77

Chapter Seventy-Seven

Snoga and his shrews were being kept on the run by a one-hare army.

If they'd supposed for even a moment that their hunter was but a single beast, they surely would have turned on him and attacked. But Hanchett was so effective at harrying the trailing shrews, striking and then fading back then striking again at a different place or from another angle, that his victims were sure an entire platoon of guerilla commandos was breathing down their necks. Hanchett may have been born and raised along the flat, open coastlands, but the two seasons he'd lived in Mossflower had given him ample opportunity to learn the ways of tree and forest, and how to adapt his Long Patrol training to such an environment. This recent woodland practice now enabled him to adopt the mantle of a phantom of the forest, seeming to come at the shrews from every direction at once.

The only tight spot for the avenging hare came when the survivors from Groat's group caught up to Snoga's main force, rushing in from behind. Hanchett found himself caught between the two merging bodies of shrews, and was left no choice but to go to ground unless he wanted to end up battling scores of the enemy at once. Before the last of Groat's former team was past his hiding spot, however, Hanchett was back on the move, picking off a straggler who wasn't quite fast enough to keep up with the rest. His lifeless body silently hit the forest floor, joining his other unlucky compatriots as Hanchett sped onward in search of his next target. The fleeing company of shrews was literally leaving a trail of their dead, claimed by Hanchett's paw, marking their passage through the woods.

At the head of the frantically departing column of the True Guosim, Gomon took Snoga to task. "Good goin', bossybottom! Slayin' th' Abbess o' Redwall, now there's a great plan!"

"Weren't s'posed t' happen that way!" the embattled shrew chieftain protested, too busy running for his life to rebuff Gomon as he deserved. "T'was an accident! Wouldn'ta been a problem if that stupid mouse hadn't been standin' so close t' that fox! 'Sides, we don't know fer sure we slew her!"

"Naw, we jus' gave her a mild headache," Gomon scoffed. "That's why there's a slew o' mad woodlanders chasin' after us now, aimin' t' kill us all!"

"Pah! We don't even know if she really was the Abbess, or jus' some mouse sent out t' trick us! An' if that's th' case, I hope she _is_ dead!"

"Abbess or no, her friends seem pretty peeved at what we done. Hey, Poss!" Gomon called over his shoulder. "What's th' situation back there?"

"Word is we got a whole regiment o' them mad hares on our tails," Poss breathlessly reported. "An' mebbe a few o' them foxes too - can't be sure. But we're losin' shrews, no disputin' that!"

"P'raps we oughtta turn about an' stage a rearguard action," Gomon suggested. "Slay enuff o' those who're chasin' us t' force th' rest inta a retreat an' get 'em off our case long 'nuff so we can get to our boats an' make our escape ... "

Snoga quickly overruled Gomon. "We ain't stoppin' fer nuthin'! Our slings'll be next t' worthless in these thick woods, an' our shortswords're no match fer hare lances an' fox broadblades! We'd be slaughtered! We gotta get to th' boats quick as we can - that's our only hope!"

And so on they ran in their panicked frenzy, striving to keep ahead of the relentless enemy they imagined to number many times the solitary Long Patrol hare harassing them. Snoga ran as much out of guilt as any sense of self-preservation. What if that really had been the Abbess, and what if she really had been killed in the ambush he'd organized against the fox leader, over the protests of some of his shrews who'd feared such a thing might happen? It would be far worse than a mere defeat. The lack of a clear-cut victory over those foxes would deny him the dominion he sought over all of Mossflower's shrewdom, but even a humiliating and costly loss would still leave him enough power to try again elsewhere. But if word spread throughout this region that Snoga had caused the death of Redwall's Abbess, the jig would be up for him. Not only would he be unable to recruit more followers to his anti-Northlander crusade, but many of the ones he had now might abandon him over this, or worse yet challenge him for leadership of the True Guosim, the very resistance movement he had founded. And with both Groat and Ojomo gone, his two top supporters and enforcers would not be there to help quell any rebellion that might break out. This day had been a disaster for Snoga in so many different ways that it might almost be a relief if he were dead before it was over - which might very well yet come to pass.

In the end, however, Snoga's bellicose will to live won out, along with his egotistical sense of his own importance. Who would take the lead in standing up to Urthblood's shrews and foxes and all the other Northland rabble that badger was sending down this way, if not for him? Whatbeast better deserved to be chief of all the Guosim, now that Log-a-Log had placed himself in debt to Urthblood and would not raise a paw in opposition to that red-armored menace no matter what he did? Even as he feared for his life, even as his stomach did somersaults at the thought of how the possible death of the possible Abbess might make him a marked beast for the rest of his seasons, Snoga inwardly railed at the injustice fate had done him this day. He deserved better than this, and by fur he would have it!

Providing he survived.

It seemed he'd been running forever when their beached fleet of logboats finally came into view by the river banks before him. Heart hammering and lungs burning, Snoga barked orders from his raw throat for a score of shrews to form a defensive line above the boats, standing ready with sling and blade to hold off the enemy while the rest of them could get safely onto the water.

Snoga was shocked by how diminished his forces were as they streamed out of the trees onto the riverbank. He'd assumed he'd lost a score or so of shrews during this debacle, but he saw now that the actual number must have been at least double or triple that. His small army certainly counted fewer than a hundred now, perhaps only fourscore. There would be many empty seats in their logboat caravan when it departed.

Snoga helped heave one of the boats halfway into the shallows, then jumped in along with a dozen of his followers, grabbed up a paddle and pushed off into the stronger currents toward the center of the broadstream. Normally Snoga would have been content to leave all the rowing to others while he looked on imperiously, but if ever there was a time to lead by example, this was it.

Amazingly, no attack came from their pursuers. Soon the only shrews left on dry land were those in the defensive line covering the escape of the rest. Hardly believing their luck, they broke their formation and rushed to the water's edge themselves to make their own getaway before the bloodthirsty woodlanders broke upon them.

At last all the shrews who'd survived the battle of Foxguard were out on the water. Snoga glanced over his shoulder. The jagged summit of the unfinished red tower winked back at him over the treetops; even after running all this way, that bastion of his ruin looked down at Snoga, taunting him with its dominance over this part of Mossflower.

"Upstream or down, sir?" one of the shrews in the logboat beside him inquired.

"Downstream'd take us back toward th' canal, where those otters might try 'n' capsize us," snapped Snoga, "an' close by that tower again too. It wouldn't surprise me if those sodden squirrels could hit us here on th' river from th' top of it! Upstream, we gotta go upstream! Put yer backs into it, shrews, an' paddle fer all ye're worth! We gotta get outta here, pronto!"

It was testimony to just how badly Snoga wanted to be away that he pulled against the broadstream currents as hard as anybeast there. Soon the logboats were well away from their departure point, leaving behind a number of the craft in the woods as evidence of just how many of their comrades had been lost this day.

Hanchett stepped out of the concealing trees from which he'd watched Snoga's forces push off. Enough of his suicidal mania had subsided that he was able to refrain from making a single-hare charge at fourscore shrews who had their backs to the water, nowhere to go and nothing to lose. Of course Snoga had been the first in the boats, and had already been beyond the hare's reach when Hanchett had crept upon the scene.

Hares, not being boating beasts, are generally inclined not to have anything to do with open water at all if they can avoid it. Thus it was that Hanchett stood for a long time contemplating the empty logboats before him. He could easily shadow the departed shrew flotilla from the banks, as long as the terrain cooperated and no side stream cut across his path of pursuit. But that still left the very distinct possibility that the shrews would eventually put ashore on the opposite bank, especially if they suspected some enemy might still be following them.

So, if he wanted to keep at this, it would be by boat or not at all. For a few fleeting moments he felt a twinge of temptation to turn around and go back to Foxguard, to rejoin his fellow Redwallers there. Then he reminded himself that he really wasn't a Redwaller anymore, and probably never could be again. There was no going back for him now, only forward - forward, to dispense justice to the wicked creature who'd struck down the Abbess. That was all he had to live for now.

As he stood there, steeling himself for his second river excursion of the day, a huge feathered form fell out of the sky in a deep yet precisely controlled dive to land on the riverbank right alongside Hanchett. The hare spun, raising his javelin in alarm. It took him a moment to identify the tunic-clad falcon - and once he had, he kept his weapon raised. Even though Klystra had visited the Abbey a number of times since the Long Patrol had settled there, Hanchett could never forget that this was also the bird who'd dropped one of his fellow hares to a gruesome death during the battle of Salamandastron the summer before.

"Oh, it's you," Hanchett acknowledged sourly. "If you've come to fly me away to a fatal plummet, beakbrain, you'll get a javelin in th' blinkin' eye. Got real work t' do, don'tcha know, so don't go gettin' in my bally way, wot?"

Klystra shook his feathered head from side to side. "Come to help, not hinder, flopears, so smooth fur back down."

Hanchett finally lowered his steel shaft. "Help?" he replied, incredulous.

"Just been to Foxguard, talked to Tolar. Hear all about shrew attack, many deaths. Now I track them."

"Sorry, featherhead, but there's only one creature here who'll be trackin' those stunted simpletons, an' I'm not lookin' for a partner. So take off, birdbottom!"

"Not able to take off, scutbutt. Shrews attack Lord Urthblood's soldiers, so they are enemy to watch. My duty to do so, whether you like or not."

"Well, I can't very well fly up t' chase you away, if you decide t' keep tabs on 'em from above. But you'd better not tip 'em off that they're bein' followed, or else I'll be havin' falcon stew for brekkers! Got it?"

"Got. It."

"Fine! Now, er, don't s'pose you'd care t' lend me a paw - or wing, or claw, or beak, or wotever - in gettin' one of these logboat thingies pushed out t' where it'll be of use, wot?"

Klystra ruffled his plumage. "My duty to track enemy shrews, not help bunnydog keep big feet dry."

"Yah, I hope you get fleas in yer feathers an' ticks in yer pinions, ya overgrown pillowstuffer!" Hanchett picked a boat at random and bent his back to pushing it out onto the water.

"Perhaps we work together anyway. Much to see from up high - more than down here. We talk again later." With that, Klystra spread his wings and took to the air once more, and was soon dwindling above the treetops.

Hanchett squinted at the diminishing birdspeck, then returned his attention to the task at paw. "Huh!" he grunted as he pushed the logboat further into the shallows. "Acceptin' help from th' same bird who murdered one o' my comrades an' helped Browder make his way t' Redwall. Wot's this bally world comin' to?"

00000000000

"What a lovely bonfire! Can we go down and roast some chestnuts?"

Winokur, standing beside Vanessa in the tower window, grimaced in discomfort. "I don't think they'd taste very good coming out of _that_ fire, Abbess."

The "lovely bonfire" to which Vanessa referred was in truth the funeral pyre for the nearly fourscore slain shrews. The eighteen fallen foxes had all been buried and properly memorialized, but for the hostile beasts who'd attacked them, there would be no words of tribute spoken nor even the simple courtesy of interment in the earth. They blazed now in the spring evening, fueled by spare wood from the construction site, in their farewell inferno that would leave them little more than ash and bone fragments. The dancing flames leapt high against the darkening sky, but from where the two Redwallers watched at the tower window, it did indeed look as if it might be no more than a modest campfire. Only the silhouettes of the creatures standing back from the blaze gave a hint of its true scale from this height.

Vanessa glanced aside at the otter novice, a childlike smile on her face. "Why does everybeast keep calling me that? I can't be Abbess - I'm just a little mousemaid! Why, I bet you're twice my age, you big silly!"

Winokur shook his head sadly. "I wouldn't put your acorns up for that bet if I were you, ma'am."

Vanessa had, if anything, regressed since awakening from her brief coma that afternoon. At first she had seemed merely dazed but otherwise herself - aside from the minor fact that she had no memory of who she or anybeast else around her was. But as the day wore on, her behavior and attitude had become more and more juvenile, settling finally into her present unshakable conviction that she was still a precocious mousechild who couldn't possibly be Abbess or any other figure of responsibility. What was remarkable was that her entire demeanor and bearing had changed to fit her new personality; she had literally been transformed before the eyes of her friends and hosts. She was still the same mouse physically - the same fur and whiskers, the same eyes and ears and snout, the same arms and legs and paws and tail - and yet she wasn't. Inside she was a child again, and that belief shone outward through her flesh and fur, showed in her twinkling, darting eyes and carefree giggle. It was unlike anything anybeast there had ever seen before, and nothing for which they were the least bit prepared.

When Sappakit had insisted that Vanessa remain off her feet and rest, she blew a raspberry in his face and snuck away as soon as his back was turned, kicking off her sandals and racing around to explore the basement and tower and outside of the unfinished fortress like a winter-bound youngbeast cut loose on the first clement day of spring. She ran laps around the wood beam framework, sparing hardly a glance toward the carnage that lay slightly farther out from the tower and slapping tags on the occasional passerby in an attempt to goad them into chasing her. And when she took to the tower stairs, twice racing up to the summit to survey the countryside for miles around and then tearing back down, somehow avoiding collisions with the other beasts she encountered there, her boundless energy left those looking on breathless.

"Why does everybeast around here think I'm a grown-up?" Vanessa demanded of Winokur in the window alcove they shared. "Can't they see how much smaller I am than the rest of them?"

"You're comparing yourself to dogfoxes and otters and squirrels - of course you're smaller than they are! Go measure yourself against some of the moles around here, and you'll see that you're a female mouse of adult stature."

"Oh, you're just being a poopyhead!"

"A ... poopyhead?" That was not something Winokur would have imagined he would ever hear Vanessa say if they'd both lived a thousand seasons.

"Catch me if you can, rudderpuppy!" Vanessa smacked him hard across his thick tail and launched herself down the stairs, seeming to scarcely touch the steps with her footpaws at all. Winokur sighed and started after her at half her own speed. This couldn't be good for her. She may have become convinced she was a child again, but she wasn't, and if she continued to push her adult body with these youngbeast antics, sooner or later she was liable to collapse ... or worse. This spell had been caused by a head injury, after all, so it was hardly fun and games, no matter what she might think. They all knew she would have to be watched very closely.

Wink found her waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs, seemingly not the least bit out of breath. "You sure are a slowpoke!" she teased.

"Must be my advanced seasons," the young otter smirked, "since I am twice your age, by your reckoning."

Two of the swordfox cadets somberly brushed by Vanessa as they came in from outside and headed down to the basement. "So many foxes," she said, looking after them. "I thought foxes were badbeasts, but these ones seem pretty okay to me. A bit dour and mopey, though."

"Well, they lost a lot of friends today, Nessa." Winokur was finding it hard to address her by her title in her present state.

"Lost their friends?" A foolish grin that was highly inappropriate for the occasion split Vanessa's face. "Then they'd better go find them again, hadn't they?" With that, she shot out into the twilit clearing in another of her mock-youthful manic dashes.

Winokur started after her, but a voice from the top of the basement steps halted him. "Wink, we need you downstairs for a moment ... "

"But, Alex sir, Vanessa - um, the Abbess - just went outside, and somebeast really ought to keep an eye on her ... "

"Tolar's foxes know to watch out for her, and so do Rontorka's otters. They'll make sure she doesn't run into the forest or come to any harm."

The squirrel's tone told Winokur a matter of some gravity was at paw. "Oh, okay. Lead the way, sir."

Alex led the novice otter to the small basement chamber where the Abbey leaders had held their impromptu council of war earlier that day with Andrus. The room was now occupied only by Lady Mina, the two Long Patrol hares, Montybank and Foremole; none of the swordfoxes or any of the other Northlanders were present. Alex took a seat alongside his wife, while Winokur settled his rudder down on the floor next to the otter Skipper, acutely aware that he had become the focus of their expectant gazes from the moment he'd stepped into the chamber.

"Hey, everybeast," he greeted his fellow Redwallers uncomfortably. "What's up?"

"You are, Wink lad," Monty said.

"Huh? What?"

"You've been with Vanessa, seen her and heard her," Alex said to Winokur. "She's not the Abbess anymore ... fur, she's not even the Vanessa I knew when we were growing up together! That hit she took on her head has made her an immature imp, more like Droge than she ever was as a child. She's certainly not the mouse who came here to confront Andrus about Foxguard."

"Maybe we could bonk her on the bally bonce a second time," Traveller suggested, "see if that gets her back in sorts." When the others turned a united scornful gaze upon the old hare, he shrugged. "Hey, it worked for that big bruiser Kurdyla ... "

"That's exactly the point," said Alex. "Kurdyla was a strong brute of a beast. Vanessa's just a mouse, and not the stoutest of mice either, for all of the indomitable spirit she's ever possessed. I'm surprised that stone she took today didn't kill her outright ... "

"In a way, it may have," Mina put in, "if the Abbess we all know never comes back, and she's left the way she is now for the rest of her seasons."

"Perish th' thought!" Monty burst out.

"We'll find out more about that when we get Vanessa back to the Abbey where Mona can have a look at her," Alex said, reclaiming the conversation for his own. "If anybeast can improve Vanessa's current state, I trust that vixen to be the one. Our immediate concern is ... well, what is to be done immediately. We came here for a reason, and today's tragedies haven't changed that. But our leadership - the one beast who had the authority to speak for all of Redwall - is no longer able to do so. Vanessa may recover her wits at any moment - or she may not. If her present condition is to last any length of time, we shall need somebeast else to stand and speak in her stead."

Alex stopped talking and looked at Winokur. The young otter then realized he was once again the focus of everybeast in the room.

"What? Me? You can't be serious!"

"You're the only other member of the Redwall order here besides Vanessa," Alex said. "Your thorough training may very well make you Abbot someday ... "

"Someday!" Wink quickly pointed out. "Not today! I'm just a novice! A student!"

"You have served in the midst of a war as Redwall's mediator," Alex went on as if Winokur hadn't spoken. "You are known to and respected by Urthblood's forces, as both a warrior and a peacemaker." The squirrel smiled. "It's really the only logical choice, Wink."

"No it's not!" Winokur protested. "You and Skipper Montybank are two of Redwall's chief defenders! It should be one of you, not me!"

"That's right - we're defenders. Fighters, not diplomats or negotiators. We need somebeast who can take Vanessa's place in representing the spirit of the Abbey. You know more about Redwall's ways and history than all the rest of us put together, in spite of your age. It has to be you, Winokur."

"Well, when you put it that way ... " Wink rested his paws on his robe-covered knees. "Never thought I'd be in a position where I'd be telling all of you what to do. Um, that is what this means, isn't it?"

"Up to a point," Alex said with a grin.

"Yeah," Monty added, "long as y' don't go gettin' too big fer yore britches. Then we might hafta demote ya again!"

Vanessa chose that moment to intrude upon their private session, sticking her head in through the open doorway. "Oh, there all you sticks in the mud are! Will you sourpusses stop sitting around down here in the dark like a bunch of moldly moles and come outside? It's nearly suppertime!"

As quickly as she had come upon them, the green-robed bundle of boundless energy shot away again to wherever her whim of the moment would take her.

"Burr hurr! Moldly molers? Oi be sloightly offendered," Foremole muttered.

Nodding after Vanessa, Alex said to Winokur, "There goes the one beast among us I wager you won't be able to tell what to do - tho' I wish you luck in trying!"


	17. Chapter 78

Chapter Seventy-Eight

The day's light had almost completely failed when Klystra swooped down over the River Moss and alighted upon Hanchett's logboat.

The hare almost jumped out of his fur at the sudden appearance of the imposing raptor, looming out of the twilight gloaming in a rustle of feathers and a rush of wing-beaten wind like a guardian phantom of the night river. Hanchett's temperament was not improved by the sudden addition of the falcon's weight unbalancing the small craft toward its stern. Hanchett, none too keen about being out on the water to begin with, quickly repositioned himself toward the bow to stabilize the logboat once more. Facing backward to look at the big bird, he scowled in the murky dusk.

"Yah, wot're y' tryin' t' do, y' great feathery dolt, capsize us?"

The professional soldierbird would not rise to the bait of Hanchett's insults. "Thought you like to know, shrews put ashore short way ahead, on western banks."

This was indeed useful, and perhaps even vital, information. With the concealing darkness falling over Mossflower, Hanchett might well have kept on paddling right past his beached quarry. But he was loathe to let the falcon know how much this was appreciated. "Will I be able t' see 'em from the river? Or, more to th' jolly point, will they be able t' see me?"

"Think not. All boats pulled up out of water, hidden in woods. Looks like they plan escape through forest, westward."

"Oh, do they now?" Hanchett mused. "Lessee ... after all th' fightin' an' runnin' an' paddlin' they've done today, those shrews must be half past dead by now. My guess is they wouldn't be able to take another flippin' step even if they wanted to. Wot's more, I never got within sight of 'em once they took to their boats, so they prob'ly don't even 'spect anybeast's on their tail anymore. Plus, they'll think they've got this whole wide river 'tween themselves an' anybeast who might wanna cause them harm. All in all, I'd say they'll be settin' up camp for the night, either near the river or not too bally far from it ... which means I'll be able to settle down an' get some shuteye m'self. Only question now is, how will I know when I've reached where they went ashore, so I don't overshoot an' loose th' blinkin' trail?"

"I help there," Klystra volunteered without missing a beat, to Hanchett's chagrin. "Will wait in trees by riverbank to show spot they left river."

"Yah. S'pose that'd work." The hare cast his eyes upon the gently flowing broadstream, now silvery-dark and mysterious in the dying light. "Better be off with ya, scalytoes, 'fore these currents push us back to where we started from, wot?"

Klystra gave a nod and took off, his sudden departure throwing the logboat off-balance once again, this time toward the prow where Hanchett sat. The hare repositioned himself toward the middle of the craft in his former spot and took up his oar again, propelling the diminutive vessel upstream against the lazy spring current.

A short time later, with the cloak of night almost completely lowered over Mossflower and the early stars revealing themselves against the deepening blackness of the evening sky above, Klystra gave a short series of subdued squawks to Hanchett as the hare's logboat reached the point where Snoga's forces had come ashore. Rather than steer his boat toward the falcon, Hanchett rowed to the opposite shore. Grimacing as he jumped out into the knee-deep shallows, he dragged his purloined vessel up into the underbrush so that it would not be spotted come daybreak, in case Snoga had left any shrews behind to cover their rearguard. Within moments of completing this task, Klystra flew across the dark river to join him.

"Why come ashore this side?" the falcon inquired.

"'Cos those shrews aren't the only ones who need their sleep ... an' I hate the idea of wakin' up with a shortsword 'tween my ribs. Mebbe that bank over yonder's clear as a sunny day, or mebbe it's crawlin' with those scrawny riververmin. I'll get my shuteye over here, then row across at dawn to pick up their trail again."

This sounded like a good plan to the raptor, so Klystra took up station on a wide hornbeam limb nearby and tucked his head under his wing. He'd flown long and hard this day, and was probably as tired as any of the shrews he and Hanchett were tracking. His unwilling hare companion nestled into a mossy hollow between the roots of an old oak and was soon fast asleep, in that light slumber of the Long Patrols that would allow him to come instantly and fully awake if trouble should find them.

None did. Hare and falcon awoke with dawn's first light to find the situation as they'd left it the night before. While Hanchett foraged a meager breakfast of young fennel and old acorns for himself, Klystra flew a reconnaissance flight across the river. Finding no signs of any shrews in the woods anywhere near the streambank (but plenty of their undisguised tracks leading away from the river, along with their abandoned logboats), the skyhunter went fishing for his own breakfast, and eventually scooped up a grayling that was bigger than both of Hanchett's legs put together. The vegetarian beast grew a little queasy as Klystra lay his flopping catch across a large, flat rock nearby and began tearing it open with practiced stabs from his sharp, curved beak.

"Ugh! Reminds me again why I stick with tucker that doesn't move or fight back ... "

"Fish best food," Klystra maintained, looking up from his kill with a gore-stained bill. "Even better than leveret ... "

Hanchett stuck out his tongue in a scowl of disgust and made for his logboat. "Well, you have yer fill of that, you feathered fishbreath, while I get a start after those murderous pygmies. I'll leave it to you to catch up ... but when you do, please be a decent chap an' don't breathe on me!"

00000000000

Vanessa was having the time of her life.

After sleeping like a baby straight through the night, she awoke showing no indication of returning to her normal self. She wolfed down her breakfast of honey-sweetened oatcakes, scoffing twice the amount that would have been Abbess Vanessa's custom, eager to get on with whatever adventures this new day held in store for her.

Tolar and Rontorka sent scouting teams into the nearer woods as soon as the brightening predawn permitted, to search for any signs that Snoga might try to double back for a second attack, but the forest appeared quite deserted. The new fox Sword highly doubted that the shrews would be able to catch them by surprise again with Klystra shadowing them, but he was taking no chances. Even after the woods were declared clear, Tolar suspended all drills for his brigade until further notice, assigning them to full-time perimeter patrol instead.

It wasn't just the shrews Tolar was considering, either. Everybeast there was well aware of what had befallen Redwall's Abbess - how could they not be, with Vanessa racing about madly, taunting everybeast she found? - and Tolar wanted to make sure she didn't run off into the woods and get herself lost. The possibility of such an incident seemed fairly high, given her present state.

But Vanessa didn't give the forest a second glance once she discovered the city of sandstone blocks by the canal. Some areas within those stacks were like a labyrinth even to the biggest of the otters. For Vanessa it was delightfully overwhelming. She was a mouse in a maze, and she couldn't have been happier.

Winokur had decided, to the agreement of his fellow Redwallers, that they should return to the Abbey right away so that Mona could decide what if anything was to be done about Vanessa. There were some very capable healers among these swordfoxes, but her condition was beyond any of them. If anybeast might hold a hope of restoring Vanessa to her former self, it would be the healer vixen who now stood in as Redwall's temporary Infirmary keeper.

While Foremole was given an exhaustive inspection tour of the fortress by Urthblood's moles - they were available for such an assignment since all construction was suspended until the Redwallers departed - Winokur stood out in the clearing with the other Abbey leaders and Tolar, gazing up at the tower of Foxguard. Now that the others had elected Winokur to be Redwall's official envoy in Vanessa's stead for the remainder of this visit, he wanted to get right to the diplomatic matters at paw, so that they could be back on the river by midmorning.

"So," the young otter asked Tolar, "you intend to keep building in spite of what happened yesterday?"

"Of course. Lord Urthblood has decided that Foxguard should stand with Redwall as a guardian of Mossflower, and so it shall be. We lost many good foxes yesterday, but there are many more in the Northlands who will jump at the chance to be accepted as cadets in our brigade. We didn't lose a single mole, weasel or otter in the attack, and they are the ones doing almost all the construction here. In that regard, our schedule will barely be disrupted by yesterday's unfortunate events. This stronghold will be completed by summer's end, and then may it stand for generations as a home to every fox among us now, and all foxes of good will who come to dwell here in the seasons ahead."

Tolar spoke these words so much the way a Redwaller might, Winokur forgot for a moment that he was not speaking with a fellow Abbeybeast.

Montybank craned his head back to take in the tower's truncated summit. "So, how tall's she gonna be when she's finished?"

"We think about three or four times its present height," Tolar answered.

Alex gave the swordfox a sharp glance. "You _think_?"

"The tower's height is one aspect of Foxguard's architecture that was left open-ended," Tolar explained. "Extra stone was cut to make it as tall as it would possibly have to be. Lord Urthblood has set up a signalling mirror on the plateau of Salamandastron that should be visible even from this far into Mossflower. We will keep building the tower until we can see the flashes from the mirror, then construct the observation deck at the top."

"Is the signal visible at all times?" asked Mina.

"Since the mirror faces east, on sunny days it will be visible from sunrise to early afternoon. At night, Lord Urthblood is lighting large bonfires in front of the mirror, although those will not show as brightly at this distance as the sun reflecting from it will."

"Direct line-of-sight between Salamandastron and central Mossflower." Alex shook his head in wonderment. "I never would have believed it."

"Wonder what they'll be chattin' 'bout?" Traveller mused with undisguised suspicion.

"The signalling system will only be used in emergencies, since only the most basic of information can be conveyed this way," said Tolar. "We will have an established set of signal flashes to convey situations, just as you have your various bell tollings at Redwall. We wouldn't be able to hold anything that could truly be called a conversation this way."

Traveller and Saticoy shared a knowing glance between them. None of the creatures around them suspected the full extent to which the mute hare could partake in discussions with his fellow Long Patrols. They knew a thing or two about conversing without words, and accordingly harbored suspicions about Tolar's reassurances.

"So, you won't start on the rest of the fortress until the tower is finished?" Mina asked the swordfox.

"That is correct, My Lady. The tower first, then the rest of the main fortress around it, and then the outer wall last."

"Ain'tcha 'fraid of another attack 'fore then?" Monty probed.

"Now that we know there may be hostile forces in the vicinity, we will increase our vigilance. We won't be caught by surprise a second time."

"So, that's it? We're just acceptin' that this red monstrosity's a done deal?" Traveller decided it was time to give Vanessa's replacement a little nudge. "Seems t' me, only reason we're here in the first place is 'cos our Abbess had some jolly serious questions 'bout wot you brushtails were doin' here. 'Tween us walkin' in on the middle of a flippin' battle an' now the Abbess herself bein' all scatterbrained, we never get did the answers to the questions we were meanin' to ask."

Tolar sighed. "Your concerns were about the tower ... and so were ours. We knew that your sense of pride in your Abbey might make it hard for you to accept the idea of any structure in this part of Mossflower being taller than Redwall. But Lord Urthblood was adamant that Foxguard be built, tower and all. So, we decided to keep that feature to ourselves. We figured that if you didn't learn of the tower until it was already tall enough to be seen from the Abbey, then you would simply have to accept it. There was nothing sinister or malicious behind our deception, although it pains me to admit that deception it was."

"Yah, well, we're still decidin' on that 'accepting' part." Traveller looked to Winokur. "You're th' one we elected t' speak for the Abbess, an' for Redwall, Wink. You were at my side t' help work out a truce with Urthblood on the slopes of Salamandastron after Lord Urthfist fell, quite likely savin' lives in that tight spot. I trust your judgment. So, wot d' you say? Do you find these foxes' behavior - an' the idea that they'll be livin' just across th' river from us - acceptable?"

"I do," the novice otter answered after the barest of hesitations. "I am not happy about the fact that they concealed things from us, but I can understand their reasons for doing so. I have become friends with one of them, and I am convinced that that friendship is genuine. And now that the battle with Snoga's shrews is over, both Tolar and the moles here are being most cooperative and forthcoming in showing us whatever we want to see here. They may have kept things from us in the past, but they are hiding nothing from us now. But more than all this, yesterday we stood as allies in the heat of battle - foxes and woodlanders, Northlanders and Redwallers, side by side - fighting against a common enemy. In that sense, it is just as Urthblood predicted it would be. I cannot know for certain what the Abbess would say if she were standing here now, but I suspect she might well have said that if we can be allies in war, then surely we can be neighbors in peace."

The other Abbeybeasts digested Winokur's pronouncement. If any of them disagreed, they didn't voice their objections, not even the two Long Patrol hares.

"And good neighbors we will strive to be," Tolar vowed. "Now that you've had the opportunity to see this site for yourselves, I'm sure you can appreciate that it will indeed be too hazardous for us to safely entertain guests until at least the main fortress is finished. But I will extend to you the same standing invitation given by my predecessor Andrus: that once Foxguard is completed, our gate will always be open to any Redwallers who care to visit, and anybeast of your Abbey will always be welcome here."

"Just as the gates of Redwall are always open to friends and beasts in need," Winokur returned with a nod.

Rontorka came hurrying over to them just then. "Um, folks, you may wanna come see t' yore Abbess. She's givin' us more grief than we know what t' do with, an' we're at our wit's ends!"

00000000000

Vanessa had apparently decided it wasn't enough to simply go running back and forth between the mountains of quarried sandstone, and got it into her childlike mind that she must scale them as well. Of course, such activity could not be properly pursued with her restrictive habit robes hampering her movements, so she'd cast off that garment without a second thought and gone on her merry way.

The other Redwallers stood at the base of a large pyramid of the cut red stone, aghast at the sight of their Abbess scampering and cavorting about on the pile without a stitch of clothing on. Even Winokur was thrown by this; when he'd removed his own habit to engage in his Nameday duelling contest with Roxroy on the Abbey lawns, that had been a very different matter, and besides, otters often doffed their clothing for their swims. When it came to displays of athleticism, the shedding of garments was perfectly acceptable. And while it might have been said that the solitary sport Vanessa now pursued was as strenuous and athletic as anything practiced by the Abbey's otters, hares or squirrels, the mere fact of who and what she was - not just a female mouse well into adulthood, but also the venerable head of the staid and proper Redwall order - made the situation seem almost surreal.

But it was not her state of undress alone that defined this spectacle. The transformation that the others had seen in Vanessa the day before was even more pronounced now. As she scrambled up and down the sides of the immense rockpile, almost defying gravity with her bounding leaps, she was nobeast that her friends recognized. Sure, she was a mouse who bore a superficial resemblance to the one they knew as Abbess Vanessa, but the spirit manifesting itself through her body had made her flesh and fur completely its own.

Still, whatever metamorphosis had been wrought upon her, she was still the Abbess Vanessa - or at least Vanessa, since she was clearly incapable of fulfilling the duties of her post - and the behavior in which she was presently engaged was plainly hazardous. An end would have to be put to it at once, unless they wanted to find themselves with an Abbess wounded in her body as well as her mind.

"Nessa, stop that!" Alex chastised. "Please, come down."

"Aye," added Monty, "ye'll hurt yoreself up there!"

"Don't wanna!" she protested, emphasizing her stand with an impertinently-protruded tongue. "I'm havin' fun!"

"Come along, ma'am," urged Traveller, "we've gotta get goin' back to the jolly old Abbey, don'tcha know."

"You go on without me, you funny old flopears - I'm happy right here!"

"Don't you wanna come back with us and see all your friends at Redwall, Nessa?" Alex cajoled.

"What's a red wall?" she laughed, then easily leapt from the stone pile she was on to the one next to it - a gap wide enough for two otters to walk abreast, one story above the ground. The other Abbeybeasts looking on found their hearts in their mouths, even as Vanessa gleefully taunted them from her new perch. "Nyah! Catch me if you can!"

Alex made to chase up after her, but Winokur held the squirrel back with an upraised arm. "Not that way, Alex, sir. In her present mood she's liable to run, and she could end up falling and hurting herself. Let me have a try ... " The novice otter looked up at the mouse who had been his Abbess until the day before. Placing paws on his hips and puffing out his chest, he demanded with all the authority he could muster, "Vanessa Abbeymouse, you come down from there at once, or you'll be sent straightaway to bed after dinner without any dessert tonight!"

Vanessa's face fell. "No dessert?"

"None at all. Maybe not for two or three nights, the way you're carrying on!"

Clearly this was unacceptable to her, for almost immediately Vanessa descended by the most direct way possible - by simply jumping down from her story-high platform.

The others rushed forward, fully expecting to have a mouse with a badly twisted ankle or a broken leg on their paws. To their amazement, she landed with a sprightly bounce and stood there grinning at them. "Okay, I'm down! Now do I get dessert?"

"Not if you do anything like that again!" Winokur scolded, drawing Vanessa to him and checking to make sure she was all right.

"Fur!" Alex muttered to Mina. "I'm a squirrel, and that scared even me!"

"I know what you mean," his wife agreed. "Here I am with a sore ankle from making that jump down to the roof yesterday, and she outdoes me without losing her smile! I must admit, she's in remarkable shape, for an Abbess mouse ... "

"Well, she's hardly herself, Mina."

"Yes, there is that, I suppose ... "

Rontorka came bustling over to them, clutching Vanessa's discarded habit that he'd recovered from another area of the stone stockpiles. "Here ... reckon you gennelbeasts'll wanna be gettin' her back in this ... "

"Thanks, Lieutenant," Winokur said, pulling Vanessa's habit on over her head. "And we want to make sure we don't forget her sandals, either - I think they're still down in the basement. And, uh ... I don't suppose you saw her habit cord lying anywhere around here, did you, Lieutenant?"

Traveller leaned over to Saticoy and whispered, "If that's how she's actin' here, wot's she gonna be like when we get her out on th' blinkin' river on our raft?"

Saticoy merely gave a noncommital whistle in reply.

00000000000

They solved that dilemma by seating Vanessa in the middle of their ferry barge with four larger or burlier beasts stationed around her in a circle. Since they would be going with the current on their return trip to the Abbey, they only needed steersbeasts to guide the craft, not a full team of rowers as before. Thus, while Monty, Winokur and Traveller tended to the paddling duties, Foremole, Alex, Mina and Saticoy formed a living cordon around their rambunctious and wayward Abbess.

"I wanna paddle my feet!" Vanessa protested as the raft found the main flow in the center of the River Moss and sped them along smoothly toward their home. "Why can't I go for a swim?"

"Because," explained Alex, "a big mean old pike might come along and make you its lunch!"

"Hurr hurr," added Foremole, "you'm not be a-wantin' to see any poike from ee insoide, marm, no zurr."

Mina whispered to her husband, "Although, if she can imitate an otter as well as she did a squirrel back on those stonepiles, I shouldn't be surprised if she could outswim a whole school of pike, and beat us back to the Abbey while she's at it!"

Vanessa poked Mina in the ribs. "Not polite to whisper, Madam Flufftail! Or didn't your elders ever teach you manners?"

"Hah! Look who's talking!"

Vanessa shifted her attention to Saticoy. "You look like a nice bunny. You're not gonna be all strict with me like the rest of these mudfaces, are you?"

Saticoy gave a quick ascending whistle of assent, followed by two tongue clicks that sounded for all the world like, "Sorry."

"Hey, that's funny! Do that again!"

"Okay," Saticoy said with a cheek squelch.

"How come you don't talk like a normal beast?"

Saticoy tilted his head back and pointed to the scar on his throat that was visible through the fur there. Vanessa leaned forward for a better look. "Eww ... "

"Our friend Saticoy here was in a big battle last summer," Mina explained. "He was gravely wounded, and very nearly died. Fortunately, some of Lord Urthblood's mice and foxes were nearby, and they were able to save him."

This summary of those events brought an irate glare from the mute hare, who wanted very much to give his own version of the tale - specifically, that it was one of those very same mice who'd slashed open his throat in the first place - but he lacked the vocal equipment to do so.

"Who's Lord Urthblood?" Vanessa inquired.

"A great and powerful Badger Lord," answered Mina. "Those were his foxes and moles and otters we were with back there. He is a true friend to all creatures of good heart, and will someday bring peace to all the lands."

Saticoy scowled at this remark, and decided it was time to give his attention to the river waters swiftly bearing them along, before he made a sound effect he would regret.

Winokur and Traveller stood side by side at the raft's stern, only marginally following the conversation at the raft's center as they concentrated on using their long oars as rudders to keep the barge lined up with the center currents and on course.

"How soon y' think we'll be back at the good ol' Abbey?" Traveller asked the young otter.

"The return trip should take less time than the journey to Foxguard. With this current, we should reach our docking point opposite the quarry well before midday. And considering how long the days are getting this late in the season, we can expect to be back inside Redwall while the sun's still in the sky ... assuming we don't run into anything unforeseen."

"On this trip, the way it's gone so far? No bally chance o' that happenin', wot!" the veteran hare proclaimed with a smirk. "Seriously, tho', d' you think it was all worth it? I mean, do you think we found out wot the Abbess wanted us t' find out?"

"I think we did. Once Snoga was driven away and the immediate crisis was over, there wasn't a part of that fortress where our Foremole or any of the rest of us wasn't allowed to look. It appears that the tower really was the only thing they were hiding from us, and Andrus and Tolar gave credible explanations for that deception. All is in the open now - there are no more secrets, and I believe Tolar when he says he wants Foxguard to be a good neighbor to Redwall in times of peace, and an ally in times of war."

These had been almost the swordfox's exact words upon seeing the Redwallers off from the canal. There had been many warm partings then, between Mina and Tolar, between Foremole and his Northland counterparts, between Monty and Rontorka, and most of all between Roxroy and Winokur himself. Of all the relationships old and new that were forged and revisited there, it was the bond between the young swordfox cadet and the novice Abbey otter that shone brightest and exemplified the heart and soul of the larger relationship Redwall and Foxguard could share - must share - in the seasons to come.

Roxroy had been there at Tolar's side on the canal bank to help see off the Abbeybeasts on their return voyage. His right paw still hung in a sling, as it would for many days to come until it was fully healed. This had not prevented him from embracing Winokur with his one good arm, or Wink from returning the hug with both of his. Before yesterday they had been friends, but now they had stood together in battle, and nothing would ever erase the camaraderie engendered by that common stand. If any aspect of these events was to serve as a signpost or roadmap to the future between the two neighboring strongholds, it was here that the greatest promise lay.

Winokur and Roxroy parted with a mutual promise that they would visit each other often in the seasons ahead. Then, realizing that both the Northlanders and his fellow Abbeybeasts were looking to him as Redwall's official representative in Vanessa's place, Wink had offered an impromptu benediction conferring the Abbey's blessing upon Foxguard and invoking the name of Martin that peace and cooperation might prosper between the new fortress and the ancient sanctuary of Mossflower.

"Those were good words you spoke back there," Traveller told him. "If it was anybeasts but foxes, or any soldiers but Urthblood's, I might've cheered. D' you really think there can be peace 'tween us an' the likes of them?"

"If they are sincere in their expressed desire for peace, we are obligated to treat them as friends and allies."

"An' if they're playin' us false?"

"I spent a lot of time with Roxroy, and I don't think they are."

"That's all well an' fine fer him, but he's just a student there. It's that Tolar we gotta worry 'bout. From wot I heard, he had th' rest of his gang half-believin' Redwall was behind Snoga's attack on 'em, an' if we hadn't happened along when we did t' set 'em straight, they might still believe it! That's a mighty suspicious mind, an' I've always been wary of suspicious minds. Usually the beasts who assume th' worst of others are the ones who have somethin' to hide themselves."

"Oh, really? Like you Long Patrols are suspicious of Lord Urthblood?"

"Wotwotwot?" Traveller stammered, flustered. "Apples 'n' acorns, don'tcha know, apples 'n' bally acorns! No comparison t'all! Urthblood's given us twenty seasons of reasons for mistrust, capped off by a war of lies an' deceit that cost our Lord Urthfist an' over half the Long Patrol their lives! We'd be brains-in-our-backsides idiots NOT to mistrust him! But for anybeast t' jump to the flippin' conclusion that Redwall was part of a cowardly sneak attack, well, that's just plain demented!"

"We don't even know for certain that Tolar himself shared those suspicions," Winokur pointed out. "They could have been all Andrus's idea, and he, tragically, now sleeps the eternal sleep of warriors. In any event, we got that misunderstanding all sorted out in good order, and nothing like that is ever likely to happen again."

"I hope you're right, Wink chappie." Traveller looked toward the center of the raft, where Vanessa, for want of anything better to do, had broken into an atrocious improvised song:

"Red-wall, Red-wall,

If I go there I just might fall,

Or run around and have a ball ... "

Otter and hare both winced, although neither so hard as the four wayfarers who sat around Vanessa guarding her; those unfortunate beasts were getting the off-key verse practically shouted into their ears.

"Y' know," Traveller mused, "when our good ol' Abbess started actin' so outta sorts after gettin' teed in her temple, I was kinda hopin' it would all turn out t' be an act, so she could stick her nose inta ev'ry corner of Foxguard without anybeast naysaying her. Gotta admit, it woulda been the perfect flippin' cover, with everybeast there thinkin' she was back t' bein' a child again - ourselves included."

"Wonder if it has a hall,

Or any wooden spoons at all,

Or trees that grow so very taaalllll ... "

Winokur returned Traveller's doleful gaze. "'Fraid not."


	18. Chapter 79

Chapter Seventy-Nine

It was another perfect day, weather-wise, for the creatures working on Grayfoot's Tavern.

Construction of the roadside inn proceeded at a fair pace. Following the plans supplied by Urthblood, the Abbeymoles had already excavated and lined the structure's basement and foundation, which would include plenty of room for a respectable wine and spirits cellar along with lots of other storage space. Now they were finishing the stairway that would connect the cellar with the first floor, after which would come the floor itself, fashioned from planks the moles and otters were producing themselves from trees sawed down and milled right on site.

It was nearing lunchtime when the shrews burst from the forest onto the road south of the construction site. At first the ferret and his Abbey helpers didn't notice them, so intent were they on their tasks. But as more of the diminutive creatures spilled out onto the path, one score after another, their presence became impossible to ignore. One by one, ferret and mole and otter stopped what they were doing and simply stood under the midday sun, staring at the small army of shrews who milled about in the distance staring back at them.

In the thick of the True Guosim throngs, too far away for the Redwallers to hear, Snoga exclaimed, "Quick, ev'ryshrew, inta th' west woods! Hurry, 'fore they come after us!"

As the Abbeybeasts watched, the large body of shrews streamed from the road into the forest across the way, apparently in no small degree of agitation. Many threw nervous glances toward the tavern builders as they went, but none made any gesture of greeting or recognition. Almost as quickly as they'd come, they were gone again.

Sergeant Traughber, assigned to watch over the building of the Northland ferret's saloon by Colonel Clewiston, stepped forward to stand at Grayfoot's side. "Whaddya reckon _that_ was all about?" the retired ferret captain wondered.

"Can't rightly say," the hare replied. "Sure looked like our own Guosim - same headbands 'n' everything - but they weren't close 'nuff for me t' get a good peek at 'em. Actin' pretty strange, too ... almost like they didn't wanna know us."

"Mebbe somethin' was after 'em?" Grayfoot guessed. "Looked t' me like they might've been on th' run."

Traughber shook his head. "No friends o' Redwall would scamper away like that without lettin' us know 'bout any danger that was near t' paw. They looked more startled by us than anything ... "

"Mebbe th' sight of a ferret workin' with moles 'n' otters threw 'em ... "

"Yah, your frightful face would be enuff t' put a scare inta any decent folk." Grayfoot shot the hare an irate glance. "Still," Traughber continued, "don't know why such a thing should come as any surprise to th' Guosim. Log-a-Log knew you were stayin' at the Abbey, an' that you meant t' build your inn on this spot."

"Yeah ... unless that wasn't th' Guosim we just saw."

Even as they stood debating the significance of this odd incident, a hare suddenly broke from the underbrush on the east side of the path, sprinted across the road and disappeared into the woods where the shrews had gone. And in the sky high overhead, a large winged form could be seen roughly following the hare's course.

"Wot the ... ?" Traughber pawed at his eyes. "Unless my bally peepers're playin' tricks on me, I could swear that was Hanchett. Wot th' blazes would he be doin' down this way?"

"An' that bird sure looked like Lord Urthblood's falcon, Cap'n Klystra," Grayfoot added. "What th' fang is goin' on here?"

"Dunno ... but this bears further investigatin'." Without another word to his companion, Traughber took off down the road and vanished into the woods where Hanchett and the shrews had disappeared. For several minutes, all work on the tavern came to a standstill as Grayfoot and the Abbeybeasts kept their gazes trained on the road south of them. At length Traughber reappeared, jogging north toward the site again.

"Wotever's goin' on, they're sure in a big hurry 'bout it. I followed their tracks into the forest a ways, but they were all too far ahead for me to catch up. Those beasts're all movin' too lickity-split for this old hare, an' I'm not chasin' 'round th' wilds of Mossflower after some sillies who're playin' tag!"

"If Cap'n Klystra's involved, I doubt it's mere play goin' on," observed Grayfoot.

"Mayhaps ye're right, ferretchap - but my assignment's here, so here I'll stay. If it's anything we oughta be concerned with, somebeast'll have th' gracious good manners t' let us know, wot? 'Sides, if that really was Hanchett, he'd've known to run fetch me if it was anything worth fetchin' me over. Let's just watch out down there a while longer, see if any other merrybeasts come crawlin' outta th' woodwork ... "

When no further creatures made an appearance, singly or in groups, Grayfoot declared that they break for lunch. It had almost been time for the noon meal anyway when the appearance of the shrews had disrupted their routine, and it was obvious that they would all need time to digest these events along with their lunch, and a chance to speculate amongst themselves before they'd be able to concentrate on their labors once more.

"Well, _sumthin's_ goin' on, that's fer sure," the ferret concluded around a mouthful of mushroom and watershrimp pastie. "But I ain't a hare, bird ner squirrel, so forest trackin's not sumthin' I can do. 'Sides, I got enuff on my paws t' worry about right here."

Traughber found himself in rare agreement with Grayfoot. "You said it, ferretface. We got enuff t' keep us busy without runnin' through Mossflower chasin' down beasts who don't wanna talk to us!"

00000000000

Later that same afternoon, Deltus was out on a routine patrol with a few of his fellow Barrenoak squirrels when he saw the harried column of Snoga's shrews go running by below them. The fleeing waterbeasts did not even seem to be aware of the arboreal creatures observing their passage from up in the forest canopy.

"Shrews all over th' place these days," one of Deltus's comrades remarked after they were gone. "First those reports about great masses of th' little ruffians to th' south, an' now these ... "

But the Barrenoak chief was gazing southwest after Snoga's small army. "Something very strange here. I could swear those were Guosim shrews. Last we heard, the Guosim were headed south, yet these came from the northeast. And they only numbered about half the strength of the force that helped us go after those slaver foxes earlier this season. Wonder what it means ... "

A short time later the squirrels spotted Hanchett picking his way through the trees with the best combination of speed and stealth he could muster. Now Deltus was truly puzzled.

"I'm sure that was one of those hares I saw living at Redwall when I visited the Abbey. Definitely a soldierbeast, not just any old woodland hare ... "

"Must be a friend of those shrews. He seemed in an awful hurry to catch up with them."

"Yeah ... unless he was chasin' them ... "

The others looked at Deltus oddly. "One beast, chasin' a whole army t' fight 'em? That'd be daft!"

"Aye, daft," Deltus agreed. "An' exactly th' kind of thing I might do myself if I was riled up enough."

Another squirrel of their patrol suddenly dropped from the higher branches. "Sir! Big hunterbird circlin' above us! Looks almost like he's shadowin' those shrews an' that hare."

"Okay, this is past strange now," Deltus bit off. "But they're in Barrenoak territory, an' that makes their business our business. Come on ... let's see if we can't find out what this's all about!"

00000000000

Cyril held his arms out to his sides at shoulder height as the sleeves of his borrowed shirt drooped over his paws and the hem descended almost past his knees.

"I feel totally goofy in this, Broggs ... "

"Well, y' can't go runnin' 'round wearin' nuthin' while ye're waitin' fer yer laundered shirt t' dry. Just roll up th' sleeves and y' should be okay ... "

Cyril sighed and did as his stoat companion suggested. "I was so busy thinking about what food and weapons I should bring with me when we were leaving the Abbey, it never occurred to me to bring along a change of clothes. Guess I was so used to the sisters laundering my habits whenever they got dirty, I just took it for granted that I'd always have fresh clothes whenever I needed them."

"Well, lucky fer you there was all those spare badgerbabe's clothes in 'is closet - they fit yer better'n any o' my extras woulda. Yers was startin' t' get a tad ripe, not t' mention all rumpled ... "

In the days that had passed since Broggen's violent fit of craving that had driven Mayk away, mouse and stoat had settled into a kind of domestic routine, taking life one day at a time and dealing with their needs as they arose. Broggen went out of his way to keep his behavior at its most exemplary, striving to prove to Cyril that he really was a goodbeast at heart and would not let anything like that happen again. As reluctantly as Broggen had first accepted Cyril's companionship when they'd left Redwall, the stoat had clearly come to depend upon the presence of his young friend and the support Cyril gave him through thick and thin.

Most of the fixable damage that Broggen had wrought in his irrational frenzy had been repaired to the best of the duo's ability, and the cottage was once more in nearly as good shape as they'd found it. Once that work had been completed, the days had become pretty much their own. Although Cyril worked hard helping Broggen with the various necessary chores, those tasks only took up a portion of their working hours, leaving him with a great deal of free time on his paws. Not even the addition of daily sword and archery practice - at which Cyril showed steady if slow improvement - could fill all the free gaps in their relaxed schedule. The novice mouse was not accustomed to such an unstructured existence, especially after his seasons as Abbey bellringer, and it was strange to him. Broggen, whose life as a soldier in Urthblood's army had been far more regimented than Cyril's ever was, also knew a thing or two about making the most of free leisure time when such opportunities presented themselves, and gladly took on the role of instructor, showing Cyril how to fully enjoy hours empty of obligations or necessary duties.

And it didn't take long at all for Cyril to get into the swing of it. Broggen was full of songs and jokes and tales, all of which he now shared with Cyril without reservation. Some of them were violent or ribald, but the mouse suppressed any feelings of unease these stirred in him; he was no child anymore, after all, and if Broggen could see him as mature enough to hear such things, then he was content to trust the stoat's judgment.

And as for the one or two (or three) mental lapses when Broggen had unthinkingly called him "Jans," Cyril was content to let those slips go without comment. He saw no need to cause the stoat embarrassment by calling attention to his gaffes if Broggen didn't catch them himself, and besides, Cyril took it as the highest of compliments.

The pleasant spring weather helped greatly in Cyril's reeducation, both as a fighter and as a layabout. Under Broggen's tutelage, the Abbeymouse quickly learned to appreciate the joys of lying idle in the sun between morning chores and afternoon drills, or sleeping late and going to bed early on the occasional rainy day. In many ways it was a far simpler and more unencumbered existence than even Abbey life had been, and the more Cyril adjusted to this idyllic and carefree lifestyle, the harder he realized it would be for him to return to Redwall. Fortunately, it looked as if that would not be necessary anytime soon.

On this late spring afternoon, two tasks cried out for attention. Their supply of firewood was running low, so more would need to be chopped. The nights could still be on the cool side, and the pair had gotten into the habit of lighting a cozy fire in the cottage's small hearth on such evenings and huddling close to the modest blazes for warmth and comfort. It also turned out that Cyril had used more water that day than anticipated, between washing their breakfast and lunch dishes and then laundering his only shirt. With their supply of fresh water running low as well, it was time to replenish those stocks too.

Normally Broggen, with his greater brawn, handled both of these duties. On this afternoon, Cyril volunteered to fetch the water while the stoat took axe to wood. As the mouse finished rolling up the overlong sleeves of the badger shirt, he said, "I've been thinking, maybe it's time to pay another visit to Deakyne and Neblett's home. We never did tell them exactly where we were settling, ad I know they'd enjoy seeing us again. I know young Pryle sure would!"

"Aye, that might be nice. I liked it there. Always a relief sharin' good times with beasts like them who don't know 'bout my dark deeds."

"Aw, you're a hero to them, Broggs! They'd welcome you there anytime! Hey, maybe we could invite some of them to come here, and let us play host to them ... "

"Mebbe. Not that we'd be able t' seat all that many, unless we gather outdoors. Been gettin' good weather fer that, tho' then again, guess that's why our rain barrel's runnin' so low, huh? Anyway, y' better be off soon, if y' wanna be back by dinnertime. It's a bit of a slog to that waterhole ... "

"Okay." Cyril retrieved the two large buckets from the rear of the cottage, then came back around to bid farewell to Broggen.

The stoat already had axe in paw. "Gotcher knife, Cyr? Never know whatbeast ye're gonna meet in th' deep woods ... "

"Yeah, I've got it," Cyril said, "and I remember all the moves you've been showing me. I'll not let anybeast catch me by surprise."

Broggen laughed. "Guess you are learnin' t' take care o' yerself, an' I oughta stop actin' so much like a mother hen. See ya later, then - an' don't talk t' any strangers!"

00000000000

For most of that afternoon, Deltus and his squirrels were content to shadow Hanchett and the shrews at a discreet distance, observing from the treetops without advertising their presence. But then something happened that the silent trackers had not expected.

Hanchett had slowly closed the gap between himself and the trailing elements of the ragged shrew column. Suddenly he shot forward in a sprint, savagely running through one of the isolated stragglers with his javelin before fading back into the forest.

The Barrenoak squirrels sat upon their high branches staring dumbfounded at the brutally slain shrew. At least two or three of its comrades had seen the killing, but none came to its aid or moved to collect the body.

"What the fur is going on here?" one of the squirrels exclaimed. "That bobtail really _is_ hunting those shrews!"

"Yeah," said another, "an' they didn't even turn about on him! It's like that one hare's got that entire gang running scared!"

"I don't know what this is all about," muttered Deltus, "but that bloodshed took place on our soil, and I say it's time we got some answers!"

Hanchett crouched in a shelter of bushes, having gone to ground in case any of the shrews decided to come after him in a group. The hare squatted breathing heavily in his spot of cover, assuming that he was hidden to all eyes. Barely had he heard the rustle from the branches above when Deltus dropped nimbly down onto the forest floor alongside his hiding place. Hanchett was instantly on his feet, javelin raised and at the ready.

"Hold, friend!" Deltus said. "You've no need for weapons with me if you're a Redwall beast ... although I'd like to know what kind of Redwaller goes 'round Mossflower huntin' creatures half his size."

"Bit of a long story, that," Hanchett answered, lowering his weapon, "an' one that'll hafta keep for another bally day. On somethin' of a schedule here, don'tcha know. Can't have any delays from fillin' in the dilly-dallies who were late gettin' to th' show, wot?" He made to push past the squirrel chieftain, but Deltus gave a sharp, piercing whistle between his teeth, and the rest of his patrol dropped from the trees. Hanchett found himself surrounded by half a dozen of the burly climbing beasts.

"That's where you're wrong, friend. I'm Deltus of Clan Barrenoak, and if you're a hare of the Long Patrols, you should remember that I was a guest at Redwall earlier this season, when I delivered two young orphans to your Abbey. Well, you're in my territory now, and we all saw you take the life of a Guosim shrew. If you don't want us thinking you're some kind of renegade beast who's turned mad and murderous, you'd best explain yourself, hare."

"A renegade, huh?" Hanchett pursed his lips, ruminating on how close Deltus had come to the truth. "Well, there's a lot of renegades runnin' 'round Mossflower these days, an' I'm hardly th' blinkin' worst of th' bunch. But I can assure you, my good bushbottomed sir, that I've slain nobeast today who didn't deserve it. I'm no danger to honest 'n' decent folk like yerselves, so if you'd kindly let me be on my way ... "

"Nobeast who didn't deserve it, huh? Well, I marched with the Guosim this very spring, along with a Redwall mouse and stoat, in pursuit of slaver foxes and the youngbeasts they were holdin'. I consider 'em friends an' allies, an' I can't think what they could've done to warrant what I just saw you do."

"Agree with every bally word you just said, chap."

Deltus waited for an elaboration. "And?"

Hanchett sighed, gazing in the direction Snoga's gang had taken. Well, he supposed, these squirrels were goodbeasts allied with Redwall, and he had slain a shrew in their territory, and they'd been decent enough to stop him and ask for an explanation rather than slay him outright, so he supposed he did owe them a recap of recent events at that. Besides, they deserved to know about Snoga for their own good. And as for that villainous shrew, well, his little horde was making enough of a mark along their path of panicked flight that picking up their trail again shouldn't be too much of a problem, even if he tarried here to bring the Barrenoak squirrels up to speed.

He turned back to Deltus. "Okay, but y' might wanna sit your bushy backsides down on a nice cozy spot, 'cos this'll take awhile ... "

00000000000

Snoga, having no idea that their present pursuit had broken off for the moment, continued to urge his followers on to utmost speed - primarily by making sure most were following _him_.

Gomon sprinted up abreast of his chieftain. "They just got Faut too, Boss!" Now that everything had gone so very wrong and they were literally running for their lives, the previously challenging Gomon was content to fall back into a more subservient posture, going with the majority and letting Snoga take all the heat for leading them into this disaster.

"Damn!" Snoga spat, panting with exertion as heavily as anyshrew there. "How th' fur did they get across th' sogged river? I'da thought fer sure that woulda shaken 'em from our tails!"

"Yah, well, it didn't!" Gomon snapped. "I think we've lost more since we got t' this side o' th' Moss than we did on the other!"

"Mebbe it's otters," Snoga breathlessly speculated. "They coulda swum across th' river without needin' boats ... "

"All we've seen so far is them damnable hares," said Gomon, silently thinking to himself that Snoga would hardly be in any position to know, since he kept himself as far from any fighting as he could. "But we left enuff boats behind that that whole gang could be chasin' us now. Not that we'd know it, th' way they fade back an' disappear ev'ry time we turn about t' stand 'gainst 'em. Like tryin' t' make war with ghosts!"

Thrice that day the True Guosim had come to spots they deemed favorable for making a stand against their imagined pursuers. But everytime they did so, their enemy seemed to evaporate into thin air ... until the shrews started probing into the woods, at which time they would be picked off one by one by an adversary that could not be found. Invariably, the True Guosim would become so unnerved that they would break and run en masse - and the chase would be on once again.

If Snoga and his shrews had been told at that moment that a single hare was behind all of this, they would have dismissed such an assertion as the purest fantasy ... and would have done so with high bad temper.

And so they ran, fearful of what lay behind them and ready to plow through anybeast who stood in the way of their blind, headlong flight.

0000000000

Cyril was in the midst of filling his second bucket at the freshwater spring when a commotion of many beasts reached his ears, making him pause in his labors. The number of creatures with whom he and Broggen had crossed paths since settling at the badgers' cottage could be counted on one paw, and they had all been solitary travellers or foragers, not looking for any trouble. Cyril was debating whether to duck into the cover of nearby bushes when the strangers broke upon him, leaving him no time to hide himself.

The young mouse heaved a huge inward sigh of relief when he saw the identity of the newcomers. They were shrews, friendly beasts - and not just any shrews, to judge by their headbands and attire and shortswords, but Guosim, allies of Redwall. Cyril didn't stop to wonder what they were doing here at this time; his own experiences so far this season had taught him that almost anything could happen out here in the wilds of Mossflower, and a wandering tribe like the Guosim most likely often found themselves at the whim of happenstance.

Half-filled bucket in paw, Cyril stood to greet his imagined friends.

The lead shrew skidded to a stop just a couple of paces in front of the suddenly-erect mouse. In spite of his young seasons, Cyril still stood half a head taller than the smaller beast. It was only at the last moment, as the shrew stared at him with a wide-eyed mix of startlement and rancor and his companions spilled out of the woods around him by the score, that Cyril realized these were nobeasts he recognized, in spite of their uncanny resemblance to the Guosim he knew and trusted.

Snoga's searat blade was in its scabbard, and he stood too close to Cyril now to use his sling, at least as a launching weapon. But he did have a large stone in it, ready for use at a moment's notice. He barely stopped to register Cyril as a mouse at all; he knew only that somebeast larger than he now stood blocking his escape route, a creature standing at the ready with something large in its paw. These were the only facts Snoga needed to inspire him to action.

He leapt forward and brought his loaded sling down between Cyril's ears with a hard smack. The mouse collapsed to the water-softened loam without even understanding what had just happened to him.

This immediate impediment to their flight thus removed, the True Guosim instantly renewed their mad run through the forest.

"What'd ya do that fer?" Gomon asked, drawing alongside Snoga once again. "That were a mouse y' took down back there. Coulda been another o' them Redwallers, fer all you knew!"

Snoga dismissed this notion out-of-paw. "What'd a Redwaller be doin' out here? We're far from th' Abbey. 'Sides, t'wasn't wearin' any habit neither. An' he was armed!"

"Armed! Yah, with an old wood pail!"

"Well, he still coulda swung it at my head an' laid me out!"

"Still don't think ya needed t' bean him like that ... "

"He was in our way! An' he was a witness too - coulda told them beasts chasin' us which way we went! I hadta lay 'im low, fer that reason if no other!"

Gomon gave a derisive snort. "Don't know if you've noticed, Boss, but those bloodthirsty woodlanders don't seem t' need any help figgerin' out which way we're headed!"

"Aw, shut yer gob, Gomon! When you become Log-a-Log here, you can call all th' shots y' want, but 'til then, clamp yer piehole!"

And onward they ran, following the rough trail that was unknowingly steering them toward the modest, isolated cottage that lay to the south.

00000000000

Somebeast was calling to Cyril through the pain.

The novice mouse tried to open his eyes, but was met with a blinding explosion of light that sent stabbing jolts through his brain. His whole head throbbed horribly, and a large part of him just wanted to sink back into the blissful peace of unconsciousness. But the insistent voice coming through the cotton in his ears, and the distant smacks of a paw gently slapping his face, slowly pulled Cyril up out of his darkness into an agonizing wakefulness.

When at last his eyes could focus, bleary shapes and forms defining themselves into more than just blurry patches of light and shadow, Cyril saw that it was a Long Patrol hare who crouched over him, cradling his head in its paw. It took him additional moments, and a considerable expenditure of concentration, to identify the creature and attach a name to the concerned face hovering over him now.

"H-Hanchett? What are you doing here?"

"Makin' sure ye're still alive, fer starters. I'd ask you wot happened, but I got a feelin' I already know ... "

Cyril raised his paw to his aching head, and gingerly felt around the sizable lump that had been raised on his skull. "There were all these shrews, they just came upon me all of a sudden without any warning ... they looked like the Guosim, but I don't think they were ... and then ... they attacked me, I think ... without any reason ... "

"Those felons don't need any bally reason t' go hurtin' other beasts - seems t' be wot comes naturally to 'em. An' after some o' wot I've seen 'em do, I'd say ye're mighty lucky t' be alive, Cyril."

"Well, who are they?" Cyril winced with equal parts pain and puzzlement. "What's going on here?"

"They're that renegade Snoga's gang," Hanchett explained. "Don't know whether that still makes 'em Guosim or just plain vermin, an' right now I don't much care. They caused some trouble back there - bad trouble - so now I'm givin' those rebel rabble fair payback."

"Trouble?" Cyril asked. "At the Abbey?"

Hanchett shook his head, "No, out in the woods away from Redwall a bit." The last thing he wanted to do was burden Cyril with the truth of all that had happened, especially since the hare was half-convinced in his own mind that the Abbess had been slain. Let Cyril think Hanchett had been out on a routine patrol with his fellow hares, and they were the only ones involved in this. The novice mouse couldn't possibly know about the incident with Browder and Kurdyla, or Hanchett's self-imposed exile from Redwall.

"Is it just you?" Cyril queried. "Alone, against all those shrews?"

"Got your old pal Deltus with me. Met up with him an' some o' his squirrel chappies a little ways back, an' that treewalloper decided t' come along with me, even outside his usual territory a bit. He's gone on ahead t' scout th' way, make sure there were no more of them nasty shrews about while I saw t' you."

Again, Hanchett revealed only part of the truth. He omitted the second partner he had at the moment, soaring somewhere unseen above the forest canopy. To reveal the involvement of Urthblood's falcon captain in all of this might lead back to Foxguard - and what had happened to the Abbess there.

"Was anybeast slain?"

Hanchett paused a moment before answering. "Aye ... an' more'n one." Deltus dropped out of the branches near them, a grim expression on his face as he strode over to where they sat. "Ah, an' here's th' very treescamper in question! Back from shooin' away that shrewscum, I've no doubt."

"How's young Cyril?" the squirrel chieftain asked, not buying into Hanchett's forced joviality.

"Think he'll be okay," the hare replied, turning more somber. "Nasty lump on th' noggin, but I've seen worse."

"So have I. Um, I think you two should come with me."


	19. Chapter 80

Chapter Eighty

"I closed his eyes," Deltus said over Cyril's disbelieving sobs. "Other than that, this is just how I found him."

Broggen sat propped against the stump he'd been using to split firewood, legs splayed out before him. He still held his axe in one paw. Blood soaked the front of his tunic from the stab wound that had pierced his heart.

"He looked more surprised than anything," the Barrenoak squirrel went on. "They must've caught him totally off guard, right up to the moment they ran him through. It doesn't look like he had time to so much as raise a fist in defense."

"'Course they took him by surprise," said Hanchett, standing soberly alongside Cyril with a paw of support around the young mouse's shoulders. "Who'd imagine a woodlander like a shrew would slay a beast in cold blood? I'm so sorry, Cyril ... "

"He can't be gone ... not like this ... " Cyril's paws unconsciously clenched and unclenched at his side, and tears stained the fur of his cheeks. "It's not fair!"

"No, it's not," agreed Deltus. "I don't know all the good and ill that this stoat did in his life, but he seemed to have a decent heart an' kind soul from what I knew of him. It can't be denied that there are youngbeasts living free today who probably wouldn't be if it weren't for him ... yourself included, Cyril." The squirrel unbuckled the incongruous scabbard that hung at his side and presented it to the young mouse. "Guess there won't be any better time t' give this to you than now, so here 'tis. Been carryin' it with me in case I ever ran into you again ... "

Cyril took the scabbard with timid paws and drew the sword halfway from its sheath. He recognized it immediately as the weapon he'd taken with him when he left the Abbey with Broggen.

"This is the sword Mayk stole from me ... " he murmured. "How did you ... "

Deltus opted to be less than completely forthcoming. "That villain dropped it on his way through Barrenoak territory."

Cyril saw through the squirrel's deception; Deltus was a proud and plainspoken beast, not given to falsehood of any kind. "You killed him ... just like those shrews killed Broggen."

Deltus scowled, almost a snarl. "I know you're upset about your friend, son, so I'll let that insult pass. The difference between me an' those shrews is I knew Mayk was a wicked slaver who'd not have been carrying your blade unless he'd gotten it by foul play. In all honesty, I truly thought he'd slain you an' taken your sword from your corpse. I was greatly relieved when Hanchett and I found you alive, if a bit battered, just now, because I never expected to see you alive again."

"I'll thank you on Cyril's behalf," Hanchett said to the squirrel. "He an' Broggs were close, so it's only understandable he's aggrieved at th' moment. Me, there were times I thought this longneck belonged dead, but I'm realizin' now I wasn't in any position t' make such a judgment. Mebbe his ledger balanced out 'fore the end, but Broggen's in Dark Forest now, so his bally book's closed in this world, an' it's up to each of us t' remember him accordin' to the stoat we saw."

For a long time the three of them stood abreast in solemn silence, regarding the slain stoat in the late afternoon light.

"He looks almost ... at peace," Cyril sniffed. "Except for the blood ... "

"It's up to us to make sure he stays at peace." Deltus gazed into the forest to the west. "Sun's almost down. It'd be too far to carry Broggen all the way back to Redwall, but if he was a true warrior he'd want to be buried where he fell anyway. We'd better get started digging his grave, if we want to be done by nightfall ... "

"I'll show you where the shovels are," Cyril offered, voice shaking.

00000000000

All three took turns excavating Broggen's grave. Cyril still felt a little woozy from his encounter with Snoga's loaded sling, but insisted on taking part in the endeavor out of memory for his stoat friend.

As they were laying Broggen in the ground, heavy shades of evening all around them, Klystra fell out of the silvery sky to alight beside the mourners. Situated in the thick of the woods as the badger cottage was, the falcon had needed a long time to find it, and only now did he rejoin his grudging hare companion.

"Lost track of shrews," Klystra reported to Hanchett. "Think they continue south, but hidden under tree cover." He glanced toward Broggen, lying in the shallow ditch that had been dug for him. "What happened here?"

"Snoga's shrews, wot else? They slew Broggen, an' nearly slew Cyril too. Oh, an' by th' way, this here's Deltus, chief big-wig of Clan Barrenoak. He was helping me track those barbarian pipsqueaks, until we got sidelined here ... "

Klystra dipped his head toward the squirrel. "An honor. So, Broggen slain? Heard what he did at Redwall, so cannot say I am saddened ... "

Cyril took a defiant step toward the large bird, tears in his eyes. "Broggen was a goodbeast!"

"Easy, now, lad." Hanchett laid a paw on Cyril's shoulder.

"Broggen serve Lord Urthblood well many seasons, but always had mouse Jans to keep nose clean. Never got drunk and killed honest creatures. Maybe needed Jans at Redwall too ... "

"Yeah - mebbe ... " Hanchett echoed, mindful of the fact that it was he who'd slain Jans during the battle of Salamandastron. The hare experienced a mental flash of all the divergent events of the past four seasons as some vast puzzle, and he could see the part he'd played in this bit of Mossflower history, how his actions rippled outward to affect other lives with consequences intended and unintended. And his part in the happenings of these times was not yet finished.

Cyril looked to Hanchett and Deltus. "What's one of Lord Urthblood's birds doing here anyway?"

Deltus traded glances with Hanchett. "We have to tell him sometime," the squirrel said.

"Tell me what?" Cyril demanded to know.

Hanchett shook his head. "One bloody thing at a time, wot? Right now we hafta get Broggs laid to rest. There'll be time to fill Cyril in on everything else that's happened. For now, let's concentrate on seein' this stoat on to th' next world an' payin' him our respects ... "

Deltus gave a nod. "Fair enough."

This decision by the two older beasts clearly dissatisfied Cyril, but seeing that their minds were made up, he opted not to press the matter, curious as he was. For one thing, Hanchett was right: this was Broggen's moment, and nothing else should be allowed to intrude upon that.

The hare turned to Klystra. "You wanna be part of this, General Feathers, or just stand back rufflin' your plumage?"

The falcon considered for a moment, then stepped forward. "Will take part. Many at Redwall still call Broggen friend, so cannot be all bad."

The earth was filled back in over the stoat's recumbant form, the burial mound then patted down and firmed with the shovel blades. Cyril had shown Hanchett and Deltus the spot where the slain badger mother was buried, and Broggen's grave had been dug alongside hers so that the two departed souls might keep each other company in some small way.

"Here lie two very different creatures, linked by sad circumstances," Hanchett intoned to commence the memorial. "Both dwelt for a time in th' cottage behind us, an' both were struck down by vermin of different kinds. May they both know more peace in Dark Forest than they had in their last hours in this world ... "

"May the good that they did be remembered and endure," said Deltus, "and the bad be left behind in the dusts of time."

"Broggen fought many battles," Klystra chimed in, "helped make Northlands better place."

"He was my friend," Cyril stated simply, bringing the short ceremony to a close. "And I'll miss him."

The four creatures stood at the graveside in silence for a few moments more. Twilight was yielding to night, and the forest was turning gloomy and forbidding.

"Let's go inside and get some lamps lit," Deltus said at last. "That might lift our spirits a bit."

"And maybe a fire in the fireplace," added Cyril. "Broggen always liked a good fire."

00000000000

Klystra opted to spend the night outside, resting in the tree branches above the cottage. Not only did this give the three mammals more room to themselves, but the falcon captain was, by his nature and training, a light sleeper, and would provide the first warning of any foebeasts who might seek to bother them in the night.

Cyril, Deltus and Hanchett sat around the fireplace, munching on a shared snack from the squirrel's provision belt as they basked in the warm glow of the dancing flames. The novice mouse hadn't wanted to accept any food at all, distraught and heartbroken over Broggen, but the other two cajoled him into finally taking a few nibbles.

As it turned out, the food supply Deltus carried with him was all that they had. When they went to fetch the shovels for digging Broggen's grave, they discovered that the cottage had been thoroughly ransacked by Snoga's shrews, who had not only stolen every morsel of food and every container of drink but had also overturned, torn apart and wrecked most of the furniture as well. Even Cyril's shirt, hanging from a branch in front of the cottage to dry, had been slashed and trampled into the dirt, leaving his floppy, borrowed badger's tunic as his only garment. Right now the three of them sat before the hearth on the floor, resting upon loose, slashed cushions which had had half their stuffing shaken out. It was a minor miracle that the intruders had left the beds more or less intact; at least there would be someplace to sleep for the night.

There was no question of continuing the pursuit in the dark. The trail would be too easy to lose, and it would be too easy to walk unaware into an ambush. But more than any of this, there was Cyril to consider. The young mouse had surrendered the last of his childhood when he pledged himself to be Broggen's travelling companion and guardian of good conscience. Cyril had lost more than a friend here; his selfless dedication to Broggen's wellbeing had been his cause, and now that identity he'd chosen for himself was lost along with the hapless stoat's life. It would not be a good thing to leave Cyril alone at a time like this.

In fact, the mouse's plight cast into doubt the entire matter of chasing Snoga. Cyril would have no reason to continue living here, and he lacked the experience to become a wandering adventurer on his own. There really was only one place he could go, one place he belonged, and that was Redwall. But Hanchett and Deltus didn't trust Cyril to make it back to the Abbey by himself in his present frame of mind - and that meant that at least one of them would have to abandon the pursuit of Snoga altogether in order to escort Cyril back home.

The news of what had happened at Foxguard only heightened the young creature's despondence. Hanchett had promised Cyril that he would explain Klystra's presence once they were finished with Broggen's burial obligation. So, once they were settled down before the modest blaze and had forced a few bites into Cyril, Hanchett told the entire tale, from the first sighting of the red tower from the Abbey walltop to their ill-fated expedition to the swordfox fortress, arriving in the midst of the battle between Snoga and the Northlanders. He told what he'd seen of the conflict from his point of view, right up until that moment of treachery when Snoga ambushed the negotiating party.

Cyril's eyes widened in mortification. "The Abbess! No! She can't be ... she can't ... are you sure?"

Hanchett shook his head sadly, eyes closed. "She went down hard, an' it didn't look from where I stood like she was gettin' up again. I'm sorry, Cyril."

Cyril cradled his head in his paws. He felt like his whole world was spinning out of control and flying apart. Broggen had been bad enough, but the Abbess was the center of every Redwaller's existence, wherever they dwelt. There had not been an Abbot or Abbess slain by villainy since the time of Matthias, when Cluny the Scourge had killed Abbot Mortimer. Cyril never imagined he would find himself living in such black times. And to have the culprits be not rats or weasels or foxes, but shrews! It was as if the whole of Mossflower had been stood on its head, with foxes turned noble and goodbeasts made vermin.

"What ... what do I do now?" Cyril sobbed, already knowing the answer.

"Only one thing y' can do, of course," said Hanchett. "You've gotta get back t' Redwall, where your brother an' all yer friends'll be glad t' see you safe 'n' sound. Won't be safe trampin' about in these woods with Snoga's jolly band o' butchers scamperin' hither an' thither. You're goin' back to the Abbey, Cyr ... an' one or both of us'll be takin' you to make sure you get there all right, wot?"

"One or both?" Deltus gazed across at Hanchett. "Does this mean you're considerin' giving up your chase after those shrews?"

Some of the hare's usual grimness returned. "Mebbe, mebbe not. I reckon I can't slay ev'ry last one o' the little blighters, much as I'm tempted to try. But gettin' this lad back to th' bally Abbey okay is more important, don'tcha know. An' I wager you 'n' me's better than either of us takin' him back there alone. Guess I've got 'til sunrise to decide, since I'll not be takin' up any chase 'fore then."

"That's not the only thing we'll hafta be thinking about," the squirrel said. "I don't have enough food to get all three of us back to Redwall, or even to Drey Barrenoak. Foraging's mighty slim this time of year too. Maybe if it was summer or fall, when fruits and herbs were at their fullest, but now ... not anything to be found that's worthy fare for a Redwall mouse."

"Yeah," Hanchett agreed, "that Snoga scoundrel left us in a pretty pickle when he went an' robbed this place of all its tucker. Low as a beast can go, if you ask me, deprivin' honest creatures of their blinkin' scoff. Height of indecency, wot!"

"I'm no babe," Cyril piped up. "I'll make do with whatever's to be found, just like you two. Although ... "

"What is it, son?" Deltus prompted, seeing the light of inspiration in Cyril's eyes.

"Well, I think I have a pretty good idea on where we might be able to find more provisions. And it's only about half a day away from here ... "

00000000000

When it came time to decide on sleeping arrangements, the two older beasts assumed they would share the large double bed in the main bedroom, so that the mouse could have a night of undisturbed slumber in the smaller bed. Cyril, however, insisted he did not want to be alone this night, and the plaintive tone to his voice convinced Deltus and Hanchett to reconsider their nocturnal logistics. Thus, the squirrel ended up sharing the master bedroom with Cyril, while Hanchett took the room where Mayk had previously slept, and before that the badgerchild Metellus who now dwelt at Redwall. Even though the bed there was designed for a youngbeast, the badgerly proportions meant that the hare could still lie down and stretch out his long legs ... most of the way, anyway.

Halfway toward dawn, Cyril began moaning and tossing in his sleep, waking Deltus. The squirrel reached out to the nightmare-tormented youngster, patting the mouse on his shoulder. Cyril didn't awake, but turned and burrowed under the covers until he was nestled snugly up against Deltus. The older creature sighed, wrapped a comforting arm around Cyril's shoulders, and drifted back to sleep hoping that the awkward position wouldn't leave his muscles too badly kinked come morning.

00000000000

Morning dawned clear and bright, and the three of them were up before sunrise. Cyril insisted upon making the beds; even if none of them were destined to ever spend another night here, it only seemed right that they leave it as neat and tidy as they could. This cottage had been Cyril's home for a good part of the season, and after all the work he and Broggen had done cleaning up the aftermath of both the fox slavers' crimes and the stoat's own tirade, it would not have felt right to depart without neatening things up as much as they could. They'd already cleared out most of the wrecked furniture the night before, and straightened what could be salvaged. Perhaps some other creatures in need of a home would come upon this cottage, just as Cyril and Broggen had, and the novice mouse wanted to leave it in move-in condition as much as possible. Besides, the structure was the closest thing Broggen would have to a gravestone. The house where he'd lived his final days would stand as the marker to his final resting place, whether the future inhabitants of the hovel realized it or not.

While the three ground creatures shared the last of Deltus's provisions for a light breakfast, Klystra flew down to the river to their south to see if he could snatch another fish for his own morning meal. The trio were still finishing their crumbs when the falcon returned.

"Smoke," Klystra reported. "Big wood house on fire, down by north riverbank."

Alarm plain on his face, Cyril stood to face the raptor. "Oh no! The mice! And the voles!"

Deltus was at Cyril's side in an instant. "You think this might be the home of your friends you'd planned to take us to this morning?"

"It has to be!" Cyril cried. "There were no other big buildings anywhere on the north riverbank!"

"Gotta be Snoga," Hanchett growled. "That murderous twerp is at it again!"

"Did you see any signs of fighting around the burning structure?" the Barrenoak squirrel asked.

Klystra shook his head. "No shrews I could see. No large groups of creatures, but may have been a few. Didn't fly low enough to be certain."

Deltus and Hanchett joined Cyril in straining to see through the trees to their south, but the dense woodlands revealed nothing but tranquil forest. Even the sky was obscured by the leafy canopy above them, blocking of any view they might have had of the smoke column rising from the horizon. Then again, Cyril had said that the twin mouse/bankvole clan's home was half a day's march away, so it would hardly be surprising if they couldn't see anything at this distance.

Deltus gave his knife belts a tug to make sure they were secure. "Then let's get going. Sounds to me like those folk could use a warrior or two. I just hope we can get there in time to do them some good!"

00000000000

Disregarding the danger of a possible shrew ambush, the three companions hastened through the woods at a half-run. Cyril coped as best he could with the awkwardness of the badger's borrowed extra-long tunic, and his sandals protected his footpaws from the hard pace they now set for themselves. Deltus took turns running alongside the young mouse and taking to the treetops, where his squirrel's arboreal speed and agility allowed him to dart ahead and scout for signs of trouble. Likewise, whenever Deltus was at Cyril's side, Hanchett would sprint ahead for a little reconnaissance of his own, so that they didn't blunder into an ambush.

And, of course, above them at all times circled the ever-watchful Klystra, although the thick forest canopy limited his ability to survey the region.

They could smell the smoke from the fire long before they could see its source. The wood-burning aroma hung thick and heavy between the trees, permeating this small reach of lower Mossflower with the essence of disaster. Midmorning saw them breaking out of the deepest woods onto the sparsely treed riverbank. No enemy had challenged or assaulted them, and as the three companions took in the scene of calamity displayed before them, it appeared none would.

Two of Snoga's shrews lay dead before the smoldering, smoking shell of what had been the timber home of Deakyne's extended mouse family. No other bodies could be seen, but by the look of things it seemed unlikely that anybeast could have escaped from that inferno alive.

With memories surging up inside him of the hospitality that he and Broggen had been shown here, Cyril strained forward against the restraining paws of his fellows, tears springing to his eyes once more as they seemed to be doing so often since Snoga crossed his path. "Nooo! No! Deakyne! Neblett! Pryle!"

"Don't do anything rash, son," Deltus said, seeking to settle the anxious mouse. "Either they got out okay, or they didn't. Nothing we can do about it now either way." He turned to the hare. "Is this Snoga the type to take slaves, or prisoners?"

"Don't think so," Hanchett replied. "With beasts chasin' them who want 'em dead, I doubt they'd take on any unwilling creatures who'd only slow them up. But I never got the impression they were th' bally slave-keepin' sort. More like misguided revolutionaries, rebels with no clear cause 'cept bein' ornery toward anybeast they happen not t' like - which appears t' be most creatures."

"We've got to find out what happened to them!" Cyril insisted. "We've got to find out whether any of them are still alive!"

"I agree with you there, lad ... " Deltus stared into the heart of the smoking ruins, errant flames licking up and down the charred timbers. "I just don't know how to even get started going about it ... "

"Then let me give ya an idea, matey!"

Startled (to say the least), Cyril, Deltus and Hanchett redirected their gazes from the gutted structure to a spot on the high riverbank just beyond it, where a vole's head appeared, followed by the rest of him as he pulled himself up over the top of the embankment.

Cyril's face instantly brightened. "Neblett!" This time the other two didn't seek to restrain him as he ran forward to share a hearty embrace with the bankvole.

When they finished hugging, Neblett stood back and looked from Cyril to Deltus and Hanchett. "See you brought a couple o' friends along with you. Where's Broggen?"

Cyril's face fell again, and he couldn't bring himself to speak. Neblett could read his expression well enough to infer the answer to his casual question.

"Aw, rot! Just when we thought we'd gotten out of this mess without any goodbeast losin' its life. Say no more, laddie - you can tell that sorry tale t' all of us, since I'm sure you'll not wanna tell it twice."

"You mean ... all the rest ... "

Neblett gave an encouraging nod. "Those miscreants never figgered there might be a lower level t' this place when they torched it, an' never bothered comin' 'round to the riverside t' check there. Deakyne was able t' get his whole family - all two dozen-plus - down inta our warren safe 'n' sound."

Cyril's jubilation at this news was cut short by Klystra's unheralded appearance on the scene. The falcon dropped out of the sky in his usual abrupt manner, bouncing onto the ground alongside the assembled beasts. Neblett immediately went into an instinctive panic, dropping down onto all fours and making ready to sprint back toward the riverbank.

"What news?" Klystra inquired, ignoring the frantic bankvole.

"That's wot we're about t' jolly well find out," said Hanchett, "providin' you don't keep scarin' all th' natives."

Cyril helped Neblett back to his feet. "That's Captain Klystra, one of Lord Urthblood's birds. Don't worry, he won't hurt you. He's helping us track those shrews."

"Urthblood, huh? That same badger Broggen used t' soldier for?"

"Um, yes ... "

"Then I guess he's a good sort." Neblett eyed the falcon warily. "No way he's comin' down below, tho'. He'll hafta wait up here. Th' rest o' you, follow me. Time enuff for introductions when we're all together ... an' I reckern we got a lot t' tell each other."

00000000000

The bankvoles' underground home reeked of woodsmoke, to the point of making the eyes sting and the nose smart. Even though Deakyne had gotten his mice down the stairs and the door closed in good order once his house had been set alight, enough of the smoke found its way down into the subterranean warren to thoroughly permeate the rooms and passages. Cyril had always liked the aroma of woodsmoke, but this was enough to set his whiskers atwitch and keep them quivering.

"I was just pokin' my head out t' see if t'was safe outside when I spotted you," Neblett explained as he escorted the three visitors along the tiled corridors. "Now that those nasty liddle firebugs're gone, I imagine most of us'll wanna head out for some fresh air while this smoke clears out a bit. We got some o' th' young ones an' oldsters breathin' through moistened kerchiefs, but most of us're just squintin' an' bearin' with it - ah, here we are!"

They'd reached the columned dining hall, where they found all the colony's voles and mice gathered together. Everybeast there was overjoyed to see not only Neblett back safe, but Cyril with him. Pryle in particular lit up at his rescuer's unexpected presence, although all the children did their best to try to smother Cyril with embraces and pawshakes.

The smoke was not as bad here, so Cyril, Deltus and Hanchett were presented with damp towels to dab their eyes and noses and bade to sit at the center table for the sharing of tales. Deakyne went first.

"We thought they were the Guosim at first, at least until their bossy leader started barking orders at us. He demanded we surrender our entire supply of food to them. I told him that we are happy to share what we can spare, but only to creatures who show us courtesy and respect. When he started blathering something about how he was the chief of all Mossflower and he didn't need to be respectful to others, I said the real Log-a-Log and Guosim who'd been here earlier this season could teach him a thing or two about how to behave like a proper shrew. Well, that set him off, and how! He tried sending in some of his bullies to teach us a lesson and take what he wanted by force. Lucky for us we have - or had - a good solid door and strong sturdy locks behind it, because if they'd been able to get in among us with those shortswords of theirs, this day might've gone quite differently ... "

"More than you know," said Hanchett. "I've gotten a jolly eyeful of these blighters in action, an' you can rest assured they've no qualms about slayin' an' woundin' goodbeasts."

"Well, even as belligerent as they were acting, we never imagined they'd go so far as to try to burn us alive," Deakyne went on. "They knew we had families with children inside. Who would've guessed shrews could behave as barbarously as any vermin?"

"And the two we saw lying up there?" Deltus inquired.

The mouse patriarch gave a fatherly smile. "My daughter Jiriel is an aspiring archerbeast. More for sport than battle, of course - none of us here is really what you'd call warrior material. She was watching the whole thing from one of the second story windows, and when she saw them trying to burn us out once we made it clear we weren't about to let them in, her shooter's instincts just took over."

"And I'd do it again!" the prim mousemaid said defiantly.

"Unfortunately, it was too little too late," Deakyne lamented. "After those two were slain, the rest redoubled their efforts, and from that point it was clear they meant to burn us alive, not smoke us out. They came at us from angles where we couldn't pick them off, and got two of the walls burning. It was all we could do to evacuate to the voles' level in time to escape with all our lives. Those shrews must have thought we were all trapped inside, and assumed we all perished when they didn't see any of us come out ... "

"Tho' they prob'ly woulda slain any who did," grumbled Neblett.

"No doubt there, chap," Hanchett agreed. "Guess this explains why they'd moved on by th' time we arrived ... "

"We didn't even know any o' this was goin' on 'til our mouse friends started streamin' down 'ere, tellin' us some mad shrews were burnin' down their house," Neblett continued. "By then, th' fire had spread too far ... not that we coulda done anything anyway, even if we'd been there from th' start. Would've taken a whole bucket brigade t' douse that blaze, an' those shrews didn't seem like the types who'd just stand by an' let us save th' building they were tryin' to destroy."

"It's best we just let it go," Deakyne said to his vole neighbor. "Those shrews were out to wreak havoc and take lives, and they would have slain any of us that they could have. We should count our blessings that we got out of this without any loss of life or limb."

"Yah, well, I'd still like t' plant my footpaw against a few of their scraggly backsides, fer what they've done," Neblett grumbled.

"If it's any bally consolation," said Hanchett, "I planted a few of 'em in th' ground while I was chasin' 'em down this way ... "

"I bet that if Cyril an' Broggen had been here, they woulda slain half those shrews, an' sent the other half runnin' for their lives!" young Pryle boasted.

"Yeah," Cyril forced a wistful smile, "I bet we would have ... "

"So just why were you chasin' those shrews, good sir Hanchett?" Neblett asked the hare. "And who are they anyway, that they would act like such vermin?"

It was Deltus who answered. "You have told us your story, friends. Now it is time for us to tell you ours ... "


	20. Chapter 81

Chapter Eighty-One

A great lamentation rose up from the listeners - especially Pryle and the other children - at the news of Broggen's murder at the shrews' paws. Cyril and Hanchett took turns telling the full tale and filling in the background history of the seasons-old rivalry between Snoga and Log-a-Log. The Redwall mouse related how he and Broggen had settled into the abandoned badger cottage, and how Mayk had stolen his sword and run away with it; Cyril deliberately omitted the reason for the slaver fox's flight. Now that Mayk and the stoat were both dead, the novice mouse was the only witness to those events, and Cyril decided not to dishonor Broggen's memory by disclosing his behavior of that night. His departed stoat friend's reputation would be clouded enough by the incident with Sister Aurelia, and Cyril wasn't about to give Hanchett and Deltus the satisfaction of having their worst feelings about Broggen confirmed. Cyril was determined never to reveal the details of that night to anybeast if he could help it.

As distraught as Deakyne's and Neblett's clans were over Broggen, the mice and voles were positively mortified and flabbergasted by Hanchett's account of what had happened at Foxguard. The treachery of Snoga's unprovoked attack on the Northlanders, compounded by the even more grievous treachery of the ambush on Andrus and Vanessa in the middle of negotiations for a truce, shocked even these victims of the True Guosim's arson. And while none of these riverside dwellers had ever been to Redwall, they were nonetheless devastated by the idea that the Abbess may have been murdered in so duplicitous a manner.

Once all the distressing news was out of the way, everybeast decided to retire to the outdoors, exiting through the voles' riverbank tunnel and climbing up to the ground above. It was the first time any of them except Neblett had seen the full scope of the destruction wrought upon their domicile. Most of the sprawling, two-story structure had collapsed in on itself, and the few beams and rafters still standing were charred black and smoking. Many of the mice sniffed and pawed away tears at the sight, crushed by this loss.

"Those were our lives in there," one mother bemoaned, thinking of all their possessions they'd lost, from clothing and furnishings to tools and toys and beloved mementos.

"No," Deakyne corrected her, wrapping one paw around Pryle and another around Jiriel, "_these_ are our lives right here. Let us be grateful that the only losses we suffered are things which can be replaced."

"So what will you do now?" Deltus asked the mouse patriarch.

Deakyne shrugged. "What can we do but rebuild? It may take seasons, but this is our home, and we're not about to let those shrewish villains drive us away."

"Luckily, our downstairs area has enough room for all of us," Neblett said encouragingly, "tho' it might be a bit short on elbow room fer awhile. Guess we'll hafta forgo entertainin' any visitors 'til we get back on our feet."

"More to the point," Deakyne asked their guests, "what are the three of you going to do now?"

His question was addressed to Cyril, Hanchett and Deltus. Klystra stood behind the trio of ground creatures, who formed a symbolic barrier between the falcon and the others. Even though Neblett and Deakyne had been assured Urthblood's raptor would not harm any goodbeast, the mice and voles were still quite leery and maintained a respectful distance from the bird.

"Much as I'd love t' keep on after those nastysnouts, especially after wot they did here, we'd pretty much already decided t' give up th' bally chase an' get this lad back to Redwall," said Hanchett. "Priorities, don'tcha know."

"And I'm already far outside my tribe's territory," Deltus added. "I didn't even have any personal quarrel with those shrews, as outraged as I am by their actions. I only hooked up with Hanchett because he slew one of those little savages under our noses, and I wanted to see both him and them out of our neck of the woods. My clansmates must really be starting to wonder where I am by now."

"Yeah," Cyril said, "the only reason we were gonna come down this way at all was because Snoga stole all our food, and we were hoping you could resupply us for the trip back to the Abbey. Then we heard about a big fire down this way, and got here, and saw ... that." He nodded toward the fire-ravaged ruins. "Now you must not have enough even for yourselves."

"Nonsense!" Deakyne declared. "How could we even consider turning away the mouse who brought our stolen children back to us? You shall have enough provisions to keep the three of you well fed all the way back to Redwall!"

"We can't ask you to endure hardship on our account," insisted Deltus. "If you must indulge us at all, spare us just enough for Cyril - Hanchett and I can forage for ourselves, and I'm not even going all the way to the Abbey myself ... "

Neblett chuckled. "Don't go frettin' 'bout us, friends. The main food stores fer both our clans're kept down below, an' weren't touched by th' fire t'all. Things might get a little crowded around here, but none of us'll be goin' hungry anytime soon."

"Well, in that case," said Hanchett, "I guess it's back t' the jolly ol' Abbey, an' with thanks." The hare looked to Klystra. "An' wot about you, fishslayer?"

"Will fly to Salamandastron, tell Lord Urthblood all that has happened," the falcon replied, "then pick up trail again if possible. He will want those shrews dead."

"That makes two of us," Hanchett snorted, "tho' I guess His Bloodiness is in a better position t' do something about it than I am. Looks like I'll be leavin' it in his paws now. Never thought I'd be countin' on Urthblood t' finish Redwall business, or my own, but in these topsy turvy days, I s'pose anything's possible, wot?"

00000000000

In no time at all Neblett and Deakyne had outfitted the three travellers with provisions to last them several days. The extended farewells ended up taking longer than the resupplying, with each and every mouse and vole of the twin clan taking its turn embracing Cyril to wish him safe journeying and expressing their sympathy once again about Broggen. Pryle and the other children were especially sad to see him go, and dragged out the goodbyes for as long as they could. Jiriel even gave Cyril an adoring kiss on the cheek, causing the novice mouse to blush about his nose and ears.

It was midafternoon by the time they finally got underway. Klystra was already gone, having winged away to inform Urthblood of the incident at Foxguard and then locate Snoga's shrews again if he could.

As they re-entered the forest, Deltus asked Cyril, "How will you feel about spending one last night in that badgers' cottage? Because our return path's gonna take us right by there, an' we should reach it around nightfall, so we might as well avail ourselves of it to get a comfortable night's rest. Tonight may be your last chance to sleep with a roof over your heads between here an' Redwall, so I'd say enjoy what you can while you can get it."

Cyril shrugged. "Yeah, I guess so." He understood why the Barrenoak squirrel was asking him; after what had happened to Broggen, it was only natural that the cottage they'd shared might hold some unpleasant associations for him. But Cyril felt he would be all right with it. He was sure he would.

And so he was. Deep twilight held the forest in its gloomy grip by the time they arrived at the cottage, but Deltus and Hanchett were trackers of such skill that they were able to find their way even in near-lightless conditions, and even though neither had ever been in this part of Mossflower before yesterday. Lamps were lit, dinner was had, and then they got to bed observing the same arrangements as before: Cyril and Deltus sharing the master bedroom while Hanchett took the smaller one. And, as before, they made sure the door was locked so that they would be less likely to be bothered by unwelcome visitors during the night.

In the morning, after a breakfast much more flavorful and substantial than their meager one of the day before, Cyril made sure once again to leave the cottage in good order, then paid his final respects at Broggen's graveside, saying a silent prayer of farewell for his fallen friend.

"Goodbye, Broggs," he murmured at the end. "I'll never forget you."

"I'm sure he's back with his mouse warrior friend at last," Hanchett said solemnly. "An' I'll bet that fiesty li'l swordswinger'll be glad to see his old stoat partner again."

Deltus remained silent, offering no encouraging words of his own. He didn't feel he had to; Cyril had not reached out to him in the night as he had the night before, nor had his sleep been obviously disrupted by dreams best left undreamt. An undeniable - and understandable - air of sadness still hung about the young mouse, but Cyril was going to be okay. Deltus was certain of it.

Instead of heading east to the main road, they backtracked along the way Deltus and Hanchett had come, on an oblique northeast course. The trail left by the stampeding shrews provided a clear route for the three journeyers to follow. Late in the afternoon, Deltus led them off this panic-trampled path on a more northerly course, into the thick of the forest. Evening saw them arriving at Drey Barrenoak ... and Cyril saw that the clan did indeed live up to its name.

The dead oak in which the squirrels lived was vast, a veritable cathedral of intertwined limbs and branches. Roofed platforms had been constructed throughout the majestic arboreal skeleton, creating a multilevel town within the tree. Some of the family apartments had walls and doors, but other parts of the community were walled with only cloth or beaded hangings, and some were completely open to the elements. Many of the tables and chairs were built right into the structures, and slung hammocks appeared to be the only beds used in the drey. It was certainly a very different way of living from what Cyril was used to at Redwall, or even at the cottage.

All of this was revealed in the twinkling light from hundreds of lamps and lanterns, a display that set aglow this patch of Mossflower all around the dreytown. The effect was almost festive, and Cyril could suddenly see how the Barrenoak squirrels would not trade this home for the most luxurious of castles, or even Redwall itself.

"Can't promise you Abbeyfolk all the comfort you're accustomed to," Deltus apologized when they first approached the big oak, "but it should at least be better than sleeping on the ground with the forest leaves as your only roof."

"I'm sure it will be fine, sir," Cyril said. "Um, how do we get up into it?"

"Well, only squirrels live here, so we don't have any stairs. That's part of our defensive arrangements - no non-climbing beast would have an easy time getting to even the lowest floors of our dreytown. We do keep a few rope ladders on paw for oldsters and the infirm. You two can use those."

"Oh, great," Hanchett muttered. "I gotta take th' flippin' old fogey's way up. That should give all you brushtails a bally big laugh, wot? Tempts me t' just lay my weary bones down on th' forest floor an' spare myself th' blinkin' humiliation ... "

Deltus's clanmates, alerted to his return by Barrenoak scouts, were geared up to give their chieftain and his guests a hearty reception. Friends and family called his name in hails of greeting from all levels of the drey, waving and whistling and clapping. Even as the trio drew up to the wide trunk of the aerial homestead, a woven ladder unrolled from the lowest floor above them to dangle practically before their snouts. Deltus, playing the part of gracious host, climbed the ladder himself, making it easier for Hanchett to swallow his pride and follow the squirrel up the swaying rungs.

Matters of dignity aside, Hanchett harbored other concerns about his present ascent. Hares were natural runners, not climbers, and he had to go carefully to make sure his overlarge footpaws didn't get tangled in the yielding material of the ladder. With each upward step his disquiet grew.

"Yaagh! I feel like a bloomin' bird tryin' t' fly underwater here! Or a mole runnin' a marathon! I say, Deltus old bean, this tree y' call home looks about ten seasons dead. Aren'tcha worried it might fall down one o' these days?"

"We've got about tenscore guy lines and steadyin' ropes tied out to all the healthy trees around us in every direction. And we watch very closely for signs of rot. Our barren oak isn't comin' down unless half of Mossflower falls along with it!"

Cyril went up last, feeling somewhat more secure about the pursuit than the hare ahead of him, although his baggy badger shirt did give him some concern. But his seasons as a bellringer, negotiating the high stairs up to the belfrey on a daily basis, along with the occasional playtime climb in some of the orchard trees, gave him enough experience with heights that his current endeavor did not unduly phase him. It was a lift to his confidence and self-esteem, knowing that he might actually be better at something than the battle-hardened Long Patrol scout.

Dinner that night was acorns ... and acorns, and yet more acorns. Cyril never would have imagined that one simple nut could be prepared and served in such a wide variety of ways. Filed into shavings to top a lettuce and radish salad, milled into flour for tasty breads, chopped and crumbled into maple oatmeal to make it crunchy, boiled or pickled as softened additions to vegetable stews, and of course candied, honeyed and glazed for individual treats or as part of other desserts - the breadth and scope of acornery was staggering. Even Hanchett, not a natural nut lover himself, found enough dishes to more than satisfy him. Cyril almost suspected Deltus had ordered his squirrels to show off just for their guests, but if so it had worked, for Cyril was suitably impressed. He never would get to see the Barrenoak kitchens during his overnight stay at their dreytown, but Cyril wouldn't have been surprised if he'd learned they were nearly the equal of Redwall's.

Sleeping in a hammock bed was an experience. Cyril had rested in simple hammocks a few times at the Abbey, but he'd never slept an entire night in one. These were more extravagant affairs, since they served as the primary beds of the Barrenoak squirrels, wider and more stable than the ones Cyril had experienced at Redwall. He'd wondered whether he would be able to sleep in one at all, but once he got comfortably settled into the hammock assigned him, he found the arrangement quite enjoyable, and slumbered uninterrupted from bedtime to sunrise.

Hanchett, sharing the same open-air room with the novice mouse, opted to forgo a suspended bed in favor of a few cushions and blankets laid down right on the floorboards. "Bad 'nuff I'm sleepin' up in a bally tree in th' first place," he'd muttered, "not about t' compound my folly by sackin' out in some hangin' monstrosity that sways back 'n' forth when I blink my eyes!"

Breakfast was, naturally, more acorn dishes - loaves and oatmeal porridge and honeymaple scones. As much as he savored the fare, Hanchett couldn't resist taking a jibe at the preponderance of the nut-based courses.

"Huh, I'm surprised you didn't roll out th' jolly acorn wine last night ... "

"Actually," said Deltus, "my cousin brews a mean acorn ale. Wanna try some?"

"Um ... not this season, thanks."

After the morning meal, the remaining food that Neblett and Deakyne had bestowed upon them was divvied up between Cyril and Hanchett. Even taking the hare's appetite into consideration, there would be more than enough to get them both back to Redwall.

Deltus climbed down with them to see them off personally while the rest of his clan looked on from the multilevel drey and the surrounding trees. "You should make for the road from here," the squirrel chieftain advised. "It may not be the most direct route, but there's no chance of getting lost in the deep woods that way. My squirrels will give you an overhead escort and see you there, since our territory extends to the path. Don't want you beset by troubles after coming all this way, and on our own watch!" He extended a paw to Cyril and Hanchett. "Please give Redwall my regards ... and may we we meet again soon under happier circumstances."

"Wouldn't be hard t' do, wot?" Hanchett shook Deltus's paw warmly. "Thanks for ev'rything, chappie. Reassurin' t' know there's fine folk like you out here in Mossflower who'll help out goodbeasts in need, an' keep th' rabble in line."

"That's what we're here for." Deltus turned to Cyril. "Again, my condolences on Broggen, son. Losing a friend is never easy, and you were a true friend to that stoat, leaving your good Abbey home to be his companion and support. I believe the burden on his soul was lessened by having you with him in his final days."

"He never got a chance to redeem himself," Cyril said. "He still could have done so much good ... "

"He redeemed himself enough. And if you doubt that, seek out a badger named Metellus and a squirrel named Budsock when you get back to Redwall - although, in Budsock's case, you probably won't have to seek too hard. Look into their eyes, and imagine those young spirits crushed under the heel of slavery in a searat rowing gallery somewhere. Broggen may have done ill in his seasons in this world, but those two youngsters - and those mice and voles we visited two days ago - owe their freedom to that stoat. To them, Broggen will always be a hero."

Cyril forced a melancholy smile. "I hope so, Deltus sir. He deserved to have at least somebeasts thinking fondly of him."

True to his word, Deltus had his squirrels see Cyril and Hanchett to the roadside - a trek that took the better part of the morning, since the drey of Clan Barrenoak was, by design, situated well off any main paths. Mouse and hare set forth north at once, Deltus and many of his tribesmates waving and calling their farewells from the treetops.

The two wayfarers marched the rest of that day without incident and almost without pause, stopping only once to take a leisurely lunch an hour after midday. They also walked mostly in silence, each wrapped up in their own thoughts. Cyril, naturally, ruminated on Broggen and all that they'd been through, and his own impending return to the Abbey. Hanchett, conversely, had still not told Cyril about Browder, Kurdya, or his almost certain exile from Redwall for his actions. In all truth, he was as trepidatious about returning to an Abbey without an Abbess as Cyril was, if not moreso; after all, he and Traveller and Saticoy had appointed themselves Vanessa's bodyguards, and they had failed miserably at that duty. If the Abbess was indeed dead, Hanchett would not be able to look any Redwallers in the eye. He wouldn't need Arlyn or Maura or anybeast else to banish him - he would choose that course for himself.

As evening approached, they drew within sight of Grayfoot's tavern, or what there was of it so far. The walls had been partially framed, providing the rough outline of what the two-story structure would look like. Now that the tedious and exacting work of preparing the foundation and laying the ground-level floorboards was completed, construction would be able to proceed at a respectable pace.

No Sparra or any other messenger from the Abbey had visited the beasts working on the ferret's inn, so all there were unaware of what had occurred at Foxguard. Their sighting of Hanchett, Klystra and the True Guosim crossing the road several days earlier - an occurrence which still puzzled them to the utmost - was the only clue they'd had that anything might be amiss in wider Mossflower. Now, as their work chores wound down for the day, Traughber was out in the road to greet the hare and mouse tramping toward the unfinished tavern.

"Hanchett, by my bobtail! Thought it was you I spotted runnin' by just south of us three or four days back. Wot was all that about, an' who were all those shrews? An' was that Urthblood's bird we saw swoopin' overhead ... an' wot's Cyril doin' with you ... an' where's that stoat he was with?"

"Excellent questions all, Sarge, an' I'll answer every bally one of 'em, once this lad 'n' I can get off our weary stompers. Um, any word from Redwall lately?"

"Not since we got here t' start the buildin' of this dive. Anything goin' on there we should know about?"

Hanchett breathed an inward sigh of relief. The lack of communication between Redwall and these workers here would have kept them in the dark about his misbehavior, so the hare was able to face his superior without chagrin. Then again, it would make the reporting of certain other events less than enjoyable.

"Yah, you could say that. Better gather ev'rybeast around, 'cos they'll all wanna hear wot we've got t' tell ... "

The ill news that the two travellers divulged was met with shock and dismay by the workerbeasts, Sergeant Traughber and Grayfoot. When they'd left Redwall, things were just getting back to some semblance of normalcy after the tragedy with Sister Aurelia. Never did they suppose that even more groundshaking events might unfold in their absence. Even Grayfoot, who had never been more than a temporary guest of the Abbey, was stricken by Hanchett's report. His position was uniquely awkward, since so many of the Abbeybeasts were here on his behalf.

"Y' reckern we oughta suspend work here an' all head back with ya to the Abbey tomorrer?" the ferret asked Hanchett.

"Um, I'd hold off on that," the hare advised. "If they'd felt it was important enuff for you to be there, they would've sent a sparrow with word to return."

"But, wot if they don't even know at Redwall wot's happened yet?" worried Traughber. "You said yourself th' battle was still ongoin' when you took off after those shrews. S'pose there were more of th' blighters than you figured, and our Abbess wasn't the only one from our party slain?"

"I dunno, Sarge - looked to me like we'd gotten that whole ragtag gang of ruffians on th' run. Doubt they could've caused more trouble than wot I saw m'self. Either way, me 'n' Cyril'll be at the Abbey by midday tomorrow, so if they don't know 'bout wot's happened yet, they soon will. Why don't you lot sit tight, an' we'll letcha know if you should follow along ... "

Two moles and an otter stood watch for the night while Hanchett, Cyril and Traughber went below to sleep in the finished cellar with Grayfoot and the rest of the construction crew. The mouse and hare had taken their dinner from the provisions Neblett and Deakyne had given them, and the other Redwallers looked on in mild jealousy that the two wayfarers had fresher food than they did.

Sometime after midnight, Traughber relieved the otter and moles, taking his own turn on sentry duty. Hanchett had asked to be included in the second shift, so the Sergeant quietly roused the younger hare and they headed up to the meadow together. Traughber noticed that Hanchett brought with him his provision sack, but made no comment. Hares were hares, after all, and wherever those beasts were, food was seldom far away.

For most of their watch, the two hares sat in silence alongside the framed-out silhouette of the future Grayfoot's Tavern, Hanchett deflecting all attempts to engage him in conversation. Traughber was begining to wonder for the fifth time why Hanchett had requested this rotation in the first place when, in the hour before dawn, the young scout started telling the Sergeant about Browder and Kurdyla, omitting no detail in his brutal treatment of both creatures.

Traughber regarded Hanchett with wide and wary eyes. "Can't say I'm all that sorry to hear that fink got his long-overdue drubbin'. Kinda wish I coulda administered it myself, wot? So, I guess you weren't a part o' that group that set out for Foxguard after all ... "

"Nope." Hanchett stood, shouldering his food pack and a borrowed bedroll. "An' I'll not be part of Redwall's community ever again. Think I could ask you t' see Cyril back to Redwall tomorrow? I wanna be long gone 'fore he wakes, in case he's misguided enuff t' try an' follow me."

Traughber thought a moment, then nodded. "I reckon I can be spared from this post for a day or two. Not much goin' on here anyway that I've been able t' see. Your saunter through here on Snoga's heels was about th' high point so far, an' these fine moles c'n spot any treachery on that ferret's part better'n I could."

"Thanks. I'm sure Cyril could make it on his own from here if he hadta - only half a day's bally stroll, after all - but I'd feel better if he had a companion all th' way to the Abbey gates ... "

"What should I tell him? 'Bout why you left like this?"

"Tell him ... that I'm off after those shrews again. It'll be th' honest truth. He'll find out th' rest soon 'nuff when he gets to Redwall."

"Okay. Luck be with you, Hanch. An' slay a few o' them shrews fer me, huh?"

"I'm doin' it fer th' Abbess, Sarge - that'll be enough t' keep me goin' for seasons."

Hanchett turned and strode off into the night, whose inky blackness soon swallowed him. The resolutely determined hare would not see this part of Mossflower again for the remainder of his days, which would be dedicated with single-minded purpose to the hunt for Snoga.


	21. Chapter 82

Chapter Eighty-Two

The morning dawned gray and misty, the threat of a steady rain hanging heavy in the air. Cyril quickly learned of Hanchett's absence, but this turn of events did not unduly phase him. He'd been preoccupied with his own thoughts and sorrows, and supposed his hare companion had a full mental slate as well. After all, Hanchett had been pursuing Snoga far from the scene of the battle when he and Cyril crossed paths, and the novice mouse realized he should have known the determined Long Patrol scout would not give up that chase as easily as he'd been pretending he would. And so, with Sergeant Traughber taking Hanchett's place at his side, Cyril set out right after breakfast on the final leg of his bittersweet return journey.

Cyril approached his Abbey home with very mixed emotions. The sight of the pale red sandstone walls and the buildings within, faded from so many seasons of sun and weather, would always fill him with a sense of warmth and belonging. But now, seeing Redwall for the first time after spending so many days away from it, he could almost imagine how a stranger would feel getting its first look at the place. Indeed, he felt a little like a stranger himself. So much had changed since he'd last stood within those walls. He was not the same mouse, not after all he'd been through with Broggen ... but then, if Vanessa really had been slain, this would not be the same Abbey he'd left either. It would be like two old friends meeting again after a long time apart, altered by everything they'd endured and experienced in the interim. Cyril would be glad to be back amongst the community he thought of as his family, but he was also trepidatious about having to share such sorrows with anybeast.

He'd had all morning to ponder such things in relative silence. The hare sergeant walking alongside him sensed that Cyril desired quiet introspection more than conversation, and besides, Traughber also needed time to digest what might await them upon their arrival. An Abbey without an Abbess would take quite some getting used to, and if the worst really had happened, Traughber wanted to hear about it firstpaw, however sad things might be at Redwall. They'd departed from the tavern site with the promise that word would be sent regarding Vanessa's status and the state of affairs at the Abbey. Grayfoot and his mole and otter helpers would continue working on his tavern unless they were told to do otherwise by Redwall's leaders - whoever they happened to be at the moment.

And now Cyril was almost home again. Of course he and Traughber were seen from the walltop long before they got to the main gate, but unless Captain Klystra had stopped off at Redwall on his way back to Salamandastron, there was no way their fellow Abbeybeasts would guess that Cyril bore with him tales of tragedy to match any they had to tell. They might infer from Broggen's absence that all was not as it should be, but until Cyril confirmed their fears and told the sad story in full, they could not know for sure.

Oddly enough - or perhaps it was not so odd after all, considering the circumstances, and the weather - the gate was only just being unbarred and opened when they reached it, and the reception committee was a small and unofficial one. As Cyril and Traughber stepped through onto the Abbey grounds, they could spy not a single one of Redwall's leaders or chief defenders; their only greeters were the squirrels and otters who'd come down from the walltop to admit them. The low-key nature of this homecoming verified Cyril's assumptions that the Abbey was indeed in mourning. He was thus entirely unprepared for what happened next.

"Hey, it's a new mousey!"

Cyril glanced up at the impish figure haphazardly hastening down the west wallsteps toward him. His eyes went wide as recognition dawned on him. The mousemaid rushing headlong at him now wore a short dress instead of a habit, and fairly pranced with each footfall like the spryest youngbeast gripped by springtime restlessness, and laughed like a child without a care in the world. All these things nearly - but not quite - disguised the identity of his boisterous welcomer.

"A-Abbess?"

And then she was airborne, feet leaving the ground and body flying toward him. Cyril didn't realize he was supposed to catch her until he actually did so, and very nearly dropped her in his surprise. To judge by her attitude, Vanessa probably wouldn't have much cared one way or the other.

Cradled in Cyril's uncertain arms as Traughber looked on with dropped jaw, she batted her eyes up at the novice mouse. "My, you're a handsome thing! You look a bit like Cyrus. You must be his brother Cyril! Nobeast told me you were so dashing!"

One of the otters leaned closer to Traughber and whispered, "She took a hard blow to th' head in a bit o' bad business we had recently. Ain't quite been 'erself ever since ... "

"But, if I'm not myself, who am I?" Vanessa giggled like a schoolmouse.

Cyril carefully set her back on her feet. She weighed a lot less than he would have imagined, but that didn't mean he wanted to stand around all day holding her. He felt distinctly uncomfortable bearing his Abbess in such a fashion, even if she wasn't behaving much like an Abbess at the moment.

"Hanchett told us about what happened at Foxguard," Traughber told the otters and squirrels around them. "He really thought she'd been slain, and we were expectin' the worst. So, I'm just happy t' see her alive, even if it's ... well, like this."

"I'm not dead yet!" Vanessa smiled coyly.

"You ran into Hanchett?" asked the former slave squirrel Granholm. "What's that hare doing now?"

"Goin' after Snoga again, this time until he puts paid t' that little demon shrew. Uh, were any other Abbeybeasts harmed at Foxguard?"

"No, thank fur. What happened with her - " Granholm nodded toward Vanessa, " - is quite enough."

"I'm standing right here, you know!" Vanessa chastised him. "Rude squirrelly!"

"Well, we need t' meet with the other Abbey leaders soon as we can. I'm afraid Cyril's got some bad news of his own to tell them ... "

00000000000

Cyril and Traughber were granted a private lunch in Cavern Hole with the Abbey leaders - Arlyn, Geoff, Mina, Alex, Montybank, Foremole and Colonel Clewiston. Winokur and Cyrus were given leave to join them at the table, but other than that the rest of the Abbeydwellers were kept out. Cyril was never comfortable being the center of attention, and didn't want to tell his tale before any group larger than this.

The news of Broggen's passing quickly spread throughout Redwall once their lunch let out. Many tears were shed, some by the very beasts who'd branded Broggen a murderer after what had happened to Sister Aurelia. Even those who still felt he deserved his banishment from the Abbey were forced to admit to themselves that fate had dealt the stoat a cruel blow. The presence of Budsock and Metellus was living proof and a constant reminder that Broggen had indeed moved toward redeeming himself at the end. Few were ready to call him a hero, but most freely mourned him as a friend and goodbeast lost.

Dinner in Great Hall that night was a somber affair, although Friar Hugh did his best to lift spirits with some first-rate fare, bolstered by one of the moles' deeper'n'ever vegetable pies. Cyril sat with Cyrus, Winokur and Smallert across from the children's table, where Maura presided. It was bizarre to the utmost to see Vanessa sitting there giggling and cavorting along with Droge and Budsock and the rest. The stricken Abbess had not seemed the least bit aggrieved or upset about Broggen, but then, in her present state she clearly retained no memory of the stoat whatsoever.

"That's just ... weird," Cyril said as he regarded Vanessa over a spoonful of his yellow cheese and onion flan. "Do we know when she's gonna get back to normal? I mean, she's not going to be like that from now on, is she?"

"No way o' tellin, Master Cyril," Smallert replied. "She's got ev'rybeast 'round here stymied, that's fer sure. Even Mona says she's never seen anything quite like it."

"What are we doing for an Abbess while she's like this?"

"Abbot Arlyn is going to deal with things as best he can," said Winokur. "But if Vanessa doesn't return to her senses soon, something more will have to be done ... "

"More?" Cyril asked.

"Arlyn and Brother Geoff have already discussed making Geoff acting Abbot until Vanessa recovers enough to resume her duties as Abbess ... if she ever does. That means I would probably have to take over as full-time Abbey Recorder, and maybe teach all the lessons as well. We all hope it doesn't come to that, but we have to think of the future. Right now we're more concerned about what we're going to do for a healer after Mona leaves for Foxguard come summer. Aurelia and Vanessa were the two most knowledgeable healerbeasts we had."

"Doesn't Abbot Arlyn know about herbs and medicines?"

"Only as much as he was required to know as Abbot," Winokur told Cyril. "He was never head of the Infirmary, like Vanessa was."

"Broggs sure left us in a real lurch when he went an' slew Sister 'relia," Smallert lamented.

Cyril took his weasel friend to task. "It was a shrew who got Broggen drunk so that he became violent, and a shrew who attacked the Abbess and made her lose her memory. Fryc and Snoga are the ones to blame for all of this, not Broggen!"

"Yeah, that's true," Winokur had to agree. "With all the trouble vermin have given Redwall down through the generations, who would've thought it would be shrews who'd cause us such problems?"

"I'm just glad ye're back safe 'n' sound, Cyril," said Smallert. "I really missed you sumpthin' awful."

"It feels good to be home." Cyril's gaze once more strayed to Vanessa, as she stuck a glob of cheese fondue on Droge's headspikes when the 'hogchild wasn't looking. "Strange, but good."

00000000000

A stoic, determined resolve showed in the young badger's step as Metellus strode into the Infirmary.

The badgerchild had excused himself from the dinner table early to tend to this. The idea had been bubbling at the back of his mind ever since Vanessa's return to the Abbey in her diminished capacity - and perhaps even before then - but tonight's evening meal had provided the impetus to push him over the line from contemplation to action.

It had been Vanessa, of course. The Abbess had provided such a calm and steadying influence upon Metellus and Budsock's arrival at Redwall, she radiated a steadfast benevolence like a comforting rock that would stand fast in any storm that broke around it. Many creatures here had helped get the two orphans settled into Abbey life and gone out of their way to make Budsock and Metellus feel like part of Redwall's family, but Vanessa was at the center of those efforts, providing the inspiration and sense of purpose for everybeast else to draw upon.

And now, that bastion of wisdom and fortitude had been reduced to a perpetually giggling, rambunctious, irresponsible and uncaring beast, less than a shadow of her former self. The unthinking, unbridled laughter she'd unleashed all that afternoon and right through dinner had grated on Metellus like the braying of the most coldhearted villain. Even Droge had known better than to cut up in his usual manner after the news of Broggen's murder had swept through the Abbey, especially since his new best playmate Budsock was distraught over his stoat rescuer's death. But Vanessa was too far gone to behave in anything other than her present flighty manner. Metellus suspected she might be incapable of feeling grief in her current state; certainly she was grossly insensitive to the grief of others. All of life had become a lark for her, even when that was the most inappropriate attitude imaginable.

Of one thing there could be no question: Vanessa was in no shape to lend a paw in the Infirmary, much less play the part of a full-fledged healerbeast, and might never be again. Mona had said there was even the possibility that the brain trauma which had robbed Vanessa of her former personality might cause her to keel over dead at any moment. There was at least as great a likelihood of that happening, according to the vixen healer, as there was of the Abbess awakening on the morrow magically returned to normal.

When Mona left for Foxguard, Redwall would be left without any Infirmary keeper at all ... unless somebeast took steps to keep that from happening.

Clovis and a few of the other former slaves from the searat lumber mill sat around Kurdyla's bed, cheering him with their company and a dinner tray they'd brought up from the kitchens. The big otter was still bedridden from his leg wounds and would be for some time to come, and was thus unable to come downstairs for mealtimes. His longtime friends made sure he never went hungry - no small feat for a beast with Kurdyla's appetite - and often came up to visit him with snacks between the main meals. Now that Browder was up and about again, Kurdyla was Mona's only patient, and his wellwishers wanted to make sure he didn't grow lonely in the otherwise empty sick bay.

Metellus steered his way around the group clustered at Kurdyla's bedside and proceeded to the desk in the back corner of the Infirmary. Mona glanced up at him from the journal she'd been reading. "Yes, can I help you?"

"I want you to teach me."

"Teach you?"

"Yes. Everything. Setting bones, stitching gashes, pulling teeth, salving burns, binding wounds, collecting herbs and making potions for everything from upset stomachs to the most dire fever ... I want to be a healer. And I want you to teach me how."

Mona sat up straighter, paws on the desktop to either side of the now-forgotten volume, staring hard at Metellus. "It takes many seasons of training to become an accomplished herbalist and healer."

"I am young. And patient. And serious. Teach me, Mona."

"But, I am leaving for Foxguard in less than a season ... "

"Then we'd better get started right away, hadn't we?"


	22. Chapter 83

Chapter Eighty-Three

On the second morning after their confrontation with the riverside mice they'd tried to burn out, Snoga's True Guosim broke out of the forest onto the Western Plains.

"What're ya leadin' us out here fer?" Gomon had asked when the shrew chieftain made his intentions clear. "We're all in th' open an' exposed! We got not protection!"

"We got protection, all right!" Snoga shot back, twirling his loaded sling for emphasis. "We got these! Those beasts that're chasin' us are usin' spear 'n' blade, stalkin' us through th' woods an' fadin' back inta th' trees whenever they was confronted. Well, let's see 'em try an' sneak up on us out here where there's no forest t' hide 'em!"

"I dunno, Boss," Gomon said dubiously. "Might only embolden 'em ... "

"Hope it does!" Snoga snarled. "We'll see 'em comin' from a mile away, an' have plenny o' time t' form up inta proper slingin' lines. We'll put 'em in their graves just like we did t' them foxes!"

Gomon refrained from reminding Snoga that the last they'd seen of those Northlanders, it was the swordfoxes who had the shrews on the run. "D' you think they're even still after us? We've not lost a beast since those mice shot our two mateys. Could be we've shaken 'em."

"If so, all th' better. But I'll not rest easy 'til we've got this river 'tween us an' them." Snoga nodded toward the broadstream on their left, whose banks they'd followed ever since leaving behind the blazing homestead of Deakyne's mice. "Last time we crossed water, they was able to keep up by stealin' some of our own boats we'd left b'hind. They'll not be able t' use that ploy a second time! We'll find a way across this trickle once we're well out onto th' Plains. I wasn't gonna stop t' build us some boats while we were still in th' forest, an' coulda been ambushed from any o' three directions."

"Yeah, but then what're we gonna do fer boats out on th' Plains? No trees out there ... "

"We'll find copses, or sumpthin'. We're waterbeasts, Gomon - we'll find a way across."

That way presented itself during their second morning on the Western Plains. Their depleted band of roughly three-and-a-half-score shrews halted at a sturdy post driven into the riverbank. A thick guide rope tied to the post extended across the broadstream to a similar anchor on the south bank. A modest, seasons-worn ferry barge lay tucked against the shore there, held to the rope by a pair of steel eyelets through which the line ran. It was a rather typical ferry shrew setup, for those ferrybeasts who preferred to dwell in one place rather than wander the waterways as they pleased.

The presumed owner and operator of the raft stood before his mud-and-timber hut, regarding the small shrew army across the river from him. "Ahoy there, friends! You be needin' th' services o' Fitkin's ferry?"

"Only if you be Fitkin, an' this be yer raft here," Snoga called back.

"Aye, that I am, an' that it is." An avaricious grin came to Fitkin's face. "Whatcha got t' offer fer my services then?"

"Payment, y' mean?" Snoga hadn't thought of this. "I'm sure we got sumpthin' you'll find acceptable. Get us all over there, an' we'll discuss it."

"We'll discuss it now, thank you much. There's enuff o' you that it'd take me four or five trips at least t' get you all across. Not gonna do all that work an' then find out ye're gonna cheat me!"

"Aw, would we cheat a fellow shrew?"

"Been known t' happen."

Gomon leaned over toward Snoga. "What _do_ we have t' give 'im, Chief?"

"We got those swords we took off them foxes. That oughta satisfy this li'l greedmonger, an' they're really too long fer us shrews t' wield properly anyway." Snoga had meant to keep those swordfox blades as trophies for his most loyal supporters, to go along with the searat sword he now regularly wore (and with which he'd slain Broggen), but the unfortunate reversal he'd suffered at Foxguard made him not care whether he ever saw those weapons again. "You take arms fer trade o' yer services?" he asked Fitkin.

"Lemme see 'em."

Snoga grabbed one of the fox swords off a nearby shrew who had it strapped across his back, and held it up for Fitkin to see. "How's this?"

"Is it quality?"

"You c'n see fer yerself when you get over here," Snoga barked. "Now hurry it up, will ya? We got some mad hares chasin' us, an' we'd like t' have this river 'tween us an' them 'fore they get here."

Fitkin's ears pricked up. "Mad hares, y' say? Don't s'pose they're from th' Long Patrol?"

"Matter o' fact they introduced themselves that way, right 'fore they started slaughterin' us," Snoga said, putting his own revisionist spin on recent events.

"Well, why didn'tcha say so in th' first place? Any shrews who're foes o' them flopeared homewreckers're friends t' me. Um, ye're still gonna hafta pay, o' course ... "

"O' course."

Moments later Fitkin was down on his raft and pulling it across to Snoga's waiting force. When he got there the ferrybeast clambered up the bank and warmly shook paws with Snoga. "Let's see them swords o' yers, 'fore we get started."

The false Log-a-Log gathered up all the stolen fox blades from the shrews who carried them, threatening and berating any who protested having to surrender their spoils of war, and presented them to Fitkin. The solitary riverbeast picked one at random, then another, examining them in minute detail.

"Meetcher standards?" Snoga inquired.

"The work's very fine, no arguin' that. I'm no expert, but I'd swear these were badger-made blades ... "

"'Course they are," said Gomon. "After all, we got 'em offa - _oof!_" A sharp elbow in the gut from Snoga silenced him with a groan.

"Offa them hares," he finished for Gomon. "They usedta work fer a Badger Lord, y' know, so naturally they got badger blades. We were able t' slay a few of 'em an' swipe their swords 'fore they rallied an' got us on th' run."

"Oh? That's funny - when those bigfooted bullies came through here summer last, they carried mostly spears an' lances. Hardly any of 'em had blades ... "

"Then they musta rearmed when you weren't lookin'!" Snoga said testily. "You want 'em or not?"

"Yeah, I'll take 'em. No need t' bite my head off!" Fitkin collected the weapons and deposited them on his ferry. "Payment up front, as allers. Okay, who's goin' across first?"

As the first group of Snoga's shrews were ferried to the south banks, Gomon asked the True Guosim chieftain, "Why'd y' tell 'im we got those swords from th' hares, Boss?"

Snoga had elected not to be among the first to make the crossing, precisely so that he and Gomon could have this conversation. "Use yer sense! You saw his reaction when we told 'im about th' Long Patrol! He thinks of 'em as enemies ... which might well mean he's allied with Urthblood. Whaddya reckon his reaction woulda been if'n we'd told 'im we attacked an' slew a bunch o' that badger's foxes an' stole their weapons?"

"Hey, that's good thinkin', Chief. Don't guess I woulda caught that. Reckon that's why ye're our Log-a-Log ... "

"An' don't you ferget it, matey!"

"Yeah, but now you got that Fitkin wonderin' 'bout that cover story y' gave him. He knew th' Long Patrol didn't use a lot o' swords. You got him all suspicious ... "

"What's he gonna do about it, huh? Call us liars? Turn away our business, an' decline those swords? Naw, I know his type. He prob'ly woulda taken them blades even if we'd come right out an' told him we'd killed some o' Urthblood's foxes. He's not one t' turn away a profit when it's bein' waved right unner his snout! But, just in case he's feelin' more loyalty t' that badger than he is to his fellow shrews or even his own greed, we'll soon have our fighters on both sides o' th' river, so if he tries anything, we'll be right on top o' him t' stop it."

Fitkin didn't try anything. If he suspected something was amiss about the swords with which he was being paid, he elected to turn a blind eye to the matter and keep his doubts to himself.

By noon the last of the True Guosim were across, and ready to resume their flight. "Pleasure doin' business with ya," Fitkin said to Snoga. "Where you off to now?"

"Rather not tell ya, if'n it's all th' same. Just in case them murderous hares track us this far, an' try 'n' torture that information outta you."

Fitkin grimaced at the mere thought. "Say, just what happened t' make th' Long Patrol an' th' Guosim start fightin' each other?"

"Long story, friend."

"Must be, since last I heard th' Long Patrol was goin' t' live at Redwall - what was left o' them hares after Urthblood got through with 'em, anyway - an' there's no way you folk're at war with Redwall ... "

"Aye, that'd be ridiculous," Snoga agreed.

"Well, if they show up on this side o' th' river askin' which way y' went, I'll do my level best t' point 'em in th' wrong direction," Fitkin assured his latest customers. "An' if they show up on th' north banks lookin' fer a crossin', they ain't gonna get it from this shrew!"

00000000000

Two days later, Hanchett appeared on the north banks, staring balefully across the broadstream at Fitkin.

"Hullo again, ya badtempered little bargekeep. Don't s'pose you'd be willin' t' do th' right thing for a change, an' float me over t' your side?"

The shrew regarded Hanchett sidelit by the west rays of the lowering sun. "Not a chance, bobtail," he called back over the flowing waters. "I well 'member how you 'n' yer badger boss treated me last summer, an' I'm just as happy keepin' this river 'tween us, thanks much."

"Diff'rent season an' diff'rent circumstances, chappie. I'm on th' trail of some murderin' savages who tried startin' a war they couldn't finish an' ended up slayin' innocent goodbeasts an' burnin' honest creatures outta their homes. Their tracks stop here, so I'm guessin' you ferried 'em across sometime in th' last day or two."

"Don't know whatcher talkin' 'bout," Fitkin lied with stubborn bravado. He'd promised Snoga he would do his best to confound any of the Long Patrol who came this way, and that was one promise he intended to keep. The fact that Hanchett appeared to be alone greatly emboldened him.

"Oh, really now? Well, th' evidence of my own eyes says otherwise, y' duplicitous little deceiver. You help 'em out 'cos they were your fellow shrews, or did they have somethin' t' bribe you with? Mebbe some o' that food they stole from that Redwall stoat after they murdered him?"

"Huh? Redwall stoat? What're you blatherin' about?" Snoga vaguely recollected the beret-clad soldier who'd been in the company of hares travelling to the Abbey at summer's end, but he couldn't imagine how that pleasant-faced vermin entered into this matter.

"Oh, did they forget to mention that some o' th' beasts they slew were Redwallers? Includin' the bally Abbess herself. Tho', I reckon that's a deed not even Snoga would go around advertisin', wot?"

"Ye're lyin'!"

"You keep tellin' yourself that if it makes you happy, y' rude little soursnout, but th' truth is you aided 'n' abetted creatures who're now at war with both Redwall an' Urthblood. Not too bloomin' smart, I'd say."

"At war with Urthblood?" Fitkin was growing more confused by the moment.

"Yah. Snoga kicked this whole thing off by attackin' his foxes. Killed nearly a score of 'em. Figgered that wouldn't wash too well with you, seein' as how you're such good pals with His Bloodiness ... "

Fitkin's mind flashed to the swords Snoga had presented him as payment for the True Guosim's crossing, and a chill ran down his spine. He'd known something had been fishy with Snoga's explanation about those weapons, and now the terrible realization dawned upon him with the cold light of certainty. Fitkin had met Urthblood's eleven senior swordfoxes in the early days of winter, when the Badger Lord and his swordsbeasts had been on their way to Redwall, and while the ferry shrew had not examined the blades closely on that occasion, he knew in his bones that the ones Snoga had given him were of the same type. Hanchett's story made a lot more sense than Snoga's had ... except for one or two discrepancies, to which Fitkin clung now with the empty desperation of a drowning beast clutching at straws.

"Wait a tick - you said Snoga slew nearly a score o' Urthblood's foxes. How could he've done that, when only eleven of 'em survived th' battle 'tween them two badgers?"

"Urthblood's bolsterin' his fox forces like gangbusters. Has 'em up to around threescore ... or at least he did, 'fore Snoga struck."

"Oh. Well, what were th' Guosim doin' attackin' Urthblood's forces anyway? I'd heard that badger had saved his son from searats ... "

"Snoga's son?" Hanchett slapped his knees as he doubled over laughing. "That verminous little villain couldn't find a shrewmaid willin' t' be his wife if he lived a thousand flippin' seasons! He's got no son! T'was the real Log-a-Log's child Urthblood saved. Wot, don't tell me you honestly thought those were th' real Guosim Snoga brought through here?"

"But, then, who th' fur _were_ they?"

"Just a ragtag bunch o' rebels Snoga's browbeaten inta breakin' away from th' main Guosim. They've got about as much legitimacy callin' themselves Guosim as I do callin' myself Lord o' Salamandastron!"

Fitkin resorted to one last slim hope. "If they'd really done all th' things you say they did, why're you the only one after 'em? Seems t' me half o' Mossflower'd be in on the chase ... "

"Oh, I'm just th' jolly old advance tracker, don'tcha know. Redwall's gettin' all its casualties in order - you can be sure there'll be a lot more followin' in my wake. And p'raps you noticed a bloomin' big bird wingin' its way west sometime in the last few days? That was Urthblood's falcon chap, off t' tell his master wot Snoga's done. Wouldn't surprise me one bit if that badger's on his way here right now with a nice little army to put an end to Snoga's gang once an' for all!"

Fitkin's head was in a whirl. How could he have gotten himself into such a fix? He thought he'd just been helping out his fellow shrews for a reasonable remuneration, and frustrating his old Long Patrol enemies in the bargain. But if even half of what Hanchett had just told him was true, then Fitkin had rendered assistance to foes of both Redwall and Salamandastron ... and a ferrybeast in these parts who alienated those two main regional powers might find itself with no customers. Or worse.

The first thing he would have to do was bury the fox swords. If Lord Urthblood came this way, Fitkin would help him any way he could, right down to pointing out which way Snoga had gone and revealing how many shrews his force numbered. He didn't want any trouble with that badger, and besides, Urthblood had helped out the ferry shrew during Fitkin's clashes with Urthfist and the Long Patrol the summer before, so Fitkin felt he owed the current master of Salamandastron his allegiance. If it came right down to it, he could always tell Urthblood that Snoga had tricked him into crossing to the north bank and then forced him to ferry them all across under threat of death. But Urthblood and his troops must not see the swords Snoga had given him, unless he wanted to face the warlord's terrible wrath.

It never occurred to Fitkin that he might simply return the swords to their maker and tell Urthblood the truth, since he fully intended to keep the weapons for his own. He'd worked hard to earn them, after all.

Hanchett intruded upon Fitkin's frantic ruminations. "So, how's about you mend your fences an' do th' right thing by givin' me a lift over there so I can keep on with my trackin', wot?"

Fitkin returned his attention to the hare. He'd first met Hanchett in the middle of the previous autumn, when the young scout had been making his way to Redwall after recovering from the grievous injuries he'd suffered during the battle of Salamandaston. Hanchett had caused him no trouble at that time, but the haunted and soulless look in his eyes had made Fitkin shiver inside his fur. This was one creature he'd not care to tangle with.

In spite of this, Fitkin was determined not to obey the hare now. Urthblood he would help, if and when the Badger Lord happened his way, but not any of the Long Patrol. Not after the indignities they'd heaped upon him and the ruin they and Urthfist had caused.

"If you want across," Fitkin yelled at him, "you'll do it without my help!"

"Wot? Be reasonable, chum. You're only hurtin' yourself ... "

"I know how t' look after my own interests, an' you don't figger inta 'em!"

Hanchett set his jaw in grim determination, then stepped into the shallows without a moment's hesitation, both paws gripped tightly about the ferry's guide rope.

Fitkin saw immediately what Hanchett intended and sprang into action, jumping down onto his raft, drawing his dirk and sawing at the line for all he was worth. Within moments the rope parted. As the long end was swept out into the currents, Fitkin tied the short end around one eyelet loop aboard his ferry, mooring the simple vessel fast to the south bank so that it would not be carried away by the river.

Snoga made no move to hide his actions from Hanchett, yet the hare was still surprised when the taut rope in his grasp suddenly went slack and left him drifting aimlessly upon the currents. Fortunately for him, he'd only been a few body lengths out into the river when Fitkin severed the line, so Hanchett had little trouble pulling himself paw-over-paw along his end of the rope back to the north banks. Hauling himself up onto dry land once more, the hare stared daggers at Fitkin as he shook himself free of clinging wetness.

"Well, looks like I won't be going that way," he muttered to himself. "Went an' got myself all waterlogged for naught - prob'ly make my javelin rust too! Hey, nastynose!" he called to Fitkin. "What'd y' go an' do that for? Now you've got no way t' get across yerself!"

"I'll get by!" the shrew yelled back from aboard his ferry.

"Guess I will too ... " Hanchett turned and tramped east back along his own tracks, mulling aloud his next course of action. "Well, I know Snoga's gang's on the other side o' this trickle, an' since I'm no swimmin' beast, looks like it's all th' blinkin' way back t' Lorr Bridge for me, an' then try 'n' pick up their tracks from there as best I can. Tho', by then they could be all th' way t' Southsward! Mebbe Urthblood's falcon chappie'll show up again, help me get their bearin's. Not like I have anything t' go back to, wot? Might's well stick with this, even if it takes me inta next season ... "

00000000000

The latest group of new arrivals had finally made it to Redwall.

The former slaves of the searats, and their Gawtrybe guide Daum, were given the main table in Great Hall in honor of their trials and tribulations. Other tables were pushed closer to theirs - not just because everybeast was eager to hear their tale, but also because Clovis and Lekkas and Wharff and Granholm and the others from their first group of Redwall-bound refugees wanted to sit with Tourki's party in a happy reunion of old companions in bondage.

Most of the Abbey leaders sat with the reunited ex-slaves. As one and all partook of the welcoming feast, the newcomers were brought up to date on all that had been happening in Redwall and Mossflower. Of course they'd known from Klystra of the misfortune that had befallen Wexford and Kurdyla at the paws of the Flitch-aye-aye, and they listened with wide-eyed wonder to the descriptions of Foxguard's planned grandeur. The wonder turned to shock and outrage at the recounting of Snoga's treachery, and the current plight of Vanessa, who provided a visible exhibition of her state by carrying on with Droge and Cuffy at the children's table across Great Hall even as her condition was explained to the newly-arrived sanctuary seekers.

Tourki shook his head sadly. "We was so caught up in what was goin' on at Salamandastron, we never gave thought that there might be equally momentous things goin' on where we was headed too," the otter said.

And then it was time for the travellers to tell their own tale. The Redwallers sat enraptured by the firstpaw account of their chase down the western coast by the _Sharktail_, and Tratton's later assault on Salamandastron using those same terrible, awesome new weapons. Most of the listeners cheered the news of the Searat King's stunning defeat, although some remained sober at the idea of such destructive powers being traded back and forth between Urthblood and Tratton.

"I was debating right up to the last whether to abandon my duty and run back to the mountain," Daum said. "The pounding Salamandastron took all that night must have been as bad as any earthquake and thunderstorm combined. It was torturous to behold, knowing I was helpless to do anything about it. And, needless to say, none of us got much sleep that night. But in the morning, when one searat ship after another went up in flames, it was a glorious sight to see! It was only then that I knew for certain Salamandastron would not fall, and felt I could in good conscience see these good folk all the way here to Redwall, as Captain Matowick wanted me to."

"Matowick is a fine and sensible and competent officer," Lady Mina said of her old Gawtrybe friend. "He knew what was best in this situation ... as he usually does."

"Besides," added Alexander, "if you hadn't escorted these goodbeasts all the way here, you would have missed out on this grand feast! It's as much for you as it is for them, even if you don't end up being a permanent member of our community."

"Yes," Arlyn asked the squirrel soldier, "how long do you think you'll be staying with us, Daum?"

"Awhile, I hope," put in Clovis quickly. "After going to all the trouble of getting Tourki's group here safely, you deserve to treat yourself to a nice little Abbey vacation!"

"You know, I might just at that," Daum mused. "I originally meant to get my tail back to Salamandastron as quickly as I could, but I've never been to Redwall before, and I might just stay a few days to experience Abbey living as it's meant to be. Judging by the state of the searat fleet when we caught our last glimpse of it before heading over the mountains, I daresay Tratton won't be troubling Lord Urthblood again anytime soon!"


	23. Interlude, with Searats

INTERLUDE, WITH SEARATS

Tratton sat upon his white marble throne, all alone in his grand tiled audience chamber. The Searat King knew they were coming to kill him, and there was nothing he could do but wait for them to arrive.

Whenever he'd suffered any kind of reversal in the past, Tratton would stifle all reports and control all witnesses - by assassination and imprisonment, if necessary - to quell the waves of rumor and gossip which might otherwise sweep through the ranks of his soldiers and subjects. When word eventually did get out, enough time would have elapsed that the bad news was taken as a matter of course rather than a cause for unrest and insurrection. Tratton maintained his share of spies among his rats, and those agents were always helpful with disseminating cover stories and peacekeeping propaganda. As long as the overall power and scope of his empire continued to grow with each passing season, minor setbacks would not cause Tratton any great concern.

But this time it would be different. The loss of four dreadnoughts in a single engagement was not a thing that could be kept hidden, not even with all his spies, not even were he to have all the survivors of the ill-fated battle slain to ensure their silence. Too many eyes had seen the _Wedge_ come limping back into the port of Terramort, alone save for the trio of salvaged submersibles trailing pathetically in her wake on their towropes. Too many had witnessed Tratton's rapid withdrawal to his private quarters upon disembarking, without even trying to put on a false front of bravado or stoic imperial confidence. There could be only one reason for their ruler's return so soon, without any of his formidable surface ships as escort. And a defeat of this magnitude, following on the heels of the losses from the season before, would not go ignored. For all that Tratton had done to transform the anarchic realm of the searats into a cohesive empire of unprecedented dimensions, some searat ways died hard. He had led them into disaster, and the more ambitious of his officers - those who had survived the clashes with Urthblood - could smell his weakness and vulnerability right now. Usually, the mechanism of his secret police would crush any rebellion before it started, but too many of high rank would be emboldened to move against him this time. They would act in unison to overwhelm his personal guard, and they would act soon.

The bodyguards were gone now, dismissed on the whim of their master. But, as always, cold calculation lay behind Tratton's actions. Let them all think he'd given up, that he'd grown so demented in his despondence that he might be blind to the threat from within his own court, or might perhaps even welcome death in his present state. Tratton had long known there were those among his captains who coveted the throne of Terramort for themselves, and might resort to old-style searat treachery to gain it, even if that meant jeopardizing all for which Tratton had worked so hard. Those traitors would reveal themselves openly now. And then ...

Tratton glanced once again at the floor lever along the left side of his throne. It would be a gambit, he knew. This arrangement had never been tested, and if it failed, then this day would be his last, and his empire most likely would be doomed.

But if it did work, seasons would pass before any rat dared challenge his authority again. Those still loyal to him would only have their awe and devotion deepened, but all would fear his power - just as it was meant to be.

As the first distant murmur of many voices echoed down the corridor into the throne room, Tratton stood, alone save for his wits and his preparations. He wanted to appear as unthreatening as possible. Some of his staunchest guards undoubtedly would have stood by him, even to the death, but Tratton would need those loyal rats more than ever if he survived the coming confrontation. Let their lives be spared now, and afterwards they would be even more grateful to their master.

Nearly a score of searats filed into the ornately-tiled throne room, some clomping heavy boots against the geometric stone designs underfoot while others clicked their unshod claws upon the smooth floor. None held a rank lower than lieutenant, and every rebel brandished at least one weapon. Their manner was hesitant, in spite of their numbers and arms. Perhaps they still retained some respectful fear of their all-powerful ratlord, or perhaps they were merely surprised that they'd penetrated so far into Tratton's inner sanctum without having to fight their way through layers of the Searat King's security forces.

The apparent leader of this insurrection stopped halfway into the spacious chamber, his supporters at his back. The audience hall was a perfect cube, unadorned by rugs or hangings, or any furniture save the throne itself. The rebels stared at their emperor across that emptiness.

"We came t' talk, Tratton!" the leader barked.

"Is that so, Captain Struss my old friend? You look like you have more than talking on your minds."

Struss and the others seemed unsure about Tratton's assured demeanor, standing before them alone and unarmed and yet apparently unconcerned for his safety. A few cast anxious glances toward the walls, half-expecting Tratton's bodyguards to come spilling out at them from secret passageways. Perhaps suspecting some such trap, the rebels did not move farther into the chamber, staying close to the room's only door in case they needed to stage a hasty retreat.

"We know what happened at Salamandastron," Struss said. "Word's all over th' island, an' on ev'ry vessel docked at Terramort. You cost us four of our biggest ships, an' a thousand an' a half of our mateys with yer foolish bid t' take that accursed chunk o' rock!"

"_MY_ ships!" Tratton roared. "Those were my ships, and my rats too, since every one of 'em had sworn its fealty to me! Or do you claim some special kinship to them over and above your King's?"

New traces of nervousness appeared on some of the faces behind Struss. Didn't Tratton realize they'd come here to kill him? How could he remain so confident? Had he truly gone mad, as some of the rumors maintained?

Struss and a few of his fellow captains remained uncowed by Tratton's show of authority. "Well, y' ain't our King no more, not after th' disaster you led us inta! That's what we came t' tell ya!"

"No longer King?" Tratton feigned genuine surprise, glancing from one captain to another. "But, if not me, then who? You, Struss? Or you, Turkin? What about you, Kozma? Or maybe you, Mobus? You all obviously plotted amongst yourselves before coming up here. Surely you settled upon which of you would become the new King?" Tratton's tone of gentility turned to a snarl. "Of course you didn't! You would cut off the head of your body and leave yourselves in ruin! How long would it be before you and your crews turned on each other in the power struggle to determine which of you would succeed me? My guess is, before my body has even grown cold! Terramort would be lucky to survive intact! And you dare accuse _me_ of leading our kind to disaster?"

Tratton's mocking scorn enraged several of the senior captains, who stepped toward the throne dais, cutlasses and rapiers raised menacingly. Tratton stopped them with an imperiously upraised paw.

"Hear me well! Any rat among you who would sit upon this throne in my place had best know the secrets of Terramort! I will share one of these with you now. And if I deem there stands a rat before me who can use that secret to his benefit better than I, then perhaps I will agree to step down to make room for that rat as my successor ... "

Tratton's left paw closed around the waist-high lever at his side. "Somewhere below this fortress is a boulder of immense proportions, big as this room and heavier than ten fully-laden galleons. For seasons now that boulder has balanced upon a fine ledge, awaiting only the slightest of pushes to send it tumbling into the deep chasm below it. One thrust of this lever, and the boulder will fall."

It was clear from the faces before him that the implications of this statement were utterly lost upon his listeners. "Yeah, so?" Struss growled.

With his right paw, Tratton gestured about them. "Laid into the floor and walls of this chamber, hidden among the tiles, is a network of extremely fine and unimaginably tough wire, of the sort usually used for garroting, only thinner and stronger. If used for such purposes, a grown rat could probably take another beast's head clean off."

Still the faces of his would-be killers remained blank. "And?" Struss demanded.

"And, those wires are tied to the boulder."

Tratton pushed the lever home.

It took several heartbeats for the rumble to make itself heard and felt, as the unseen boulder in the depths of the isle toppled from its precarious perch and plummeted into its subterranean grave.

It took another several heartbeats after that for the razor-sharp steel wires, drawn savagely forth from their inlaid hiding places by the inexorable pull of their mammoth counterweight, to slice through the room from almost every angle. Only the throne dais upon which Tratton stood was spared from this unyielding dance of death. The rebel rats before him, standing alert with ears cocked at the first sound of the earth-shaking rumble coming from far below them, barely had time to twitch before the deathtrap was sprung.

Tratton's breath caught as the suddenly-released stench of death filled the throne room and assailed his nostrils. Not a single rat among his challengers was intact. Head, arms, legs, tails and bisected torsos lay scattered on the floor before him in a spreading soup of blood and gore - all that was left of this sorry rebellion.

No, not quite all. Near the throne room doorway stood a rat Tratton recognized as Frocco, first mate under the now-deceased Captain Alterig of the raider galleon _Bloodrudder_. Frocco's right arm had been severed just below the elbow, robbing the rebel rat of both paw and weapon. He seemed in a state of mute shock - which was only natural.

Tratton stepped off the throne dais and walked across the large room toward the immobilized Frocco, his unshod footpaws squelching in the sea of blood and viscera. The Searat King made no attempt to avoid the gore, since no clean spot remained anywhere on the floor. He just made sure to avoid the larger pieces of the carcasses which might have caused him to trip and fall into the mess. The fresh death felt warm and vital against his soles and between his toes, but Tratton made sure to carry his tail high; soiled footpaws were one thing, but he hated a dirty tail.

In the back of his mind, in an almost surreal departure from his present surroundings, Tratton hearkened back to his days as a young deckpaw, when the derisive older crewrats had saddled him with the name Whiteclaw due to the dried sea salt that always seemed to accumulate on his footpaws no matter how often he washed them. If only those long-gone tormentors could see him now, they would be calling him Redclaw instead.

Redclaw. He liked the sound of that. Perhaps he would use that name for his new flagship.

Tratton stopped before Frocco. "It was very foolhardy of you to involve yourself in this," he said to the maimed first mate. "The question you must ask yourself now is, do you want to live past this day?"

Frocco merely nodded, still unable to find his voice.

"Then do exactly what I say ... " Tratton undid Frocco's belt and tied it around the bleeding stump as a tourniquet. The Searat King took no great care to avoid getting Frocco's blood on his royal tunic, and by the time he'd finished tending the other's wound, dark crimson liberally streaked the fine garment.

"There. That ought to keep you alive long enough to get down to the sick bay." Tratton drew his dagger. "Now, open your mouth wide and stick out your tongue."

Frocco hesitated, knowing what was to come. In a flash, Tratton had the tip of his blade pressed against the usurper's throat.

"Do ... you ... want ... to ... live?"

Slowly, Frocco lowered his jaw and extended his tongue.

With one deft swipe, Tratton sliced off the protruding member, then tossed the severed tongue over his shoulder to land among the rest of the carnage with a wet slap. More blood spattered the front of his tunic as a result of this endeavor.

"Run along now," Tratton encouraged the mute, maimed rebel. "And consider this the luckiest day of your life."

00000000000

After Frocco was gone, Tratton summoned Malvarkis, the head of his personal guard. Malvarkis was visibly surprised to see his master still alive, and stunned speechless by the sight of the carnage filling the throne room.

"Round up every officer of every ship currently in port," Tratton ordered, "along with every officer of the Terramort island forces. Those that are still alive, at any rate. Have them brought up here, and make sure each one gets a good look at this chamber."

"Yes, Your Majesty!"

For the rest of that day and into the evening, the remaining captains and subcommanders on the island were methodically paraded past the throne room. These were the officers who'd either remained loyal to Tratton in the face of the plot against him, or who'd sat on the fence, waiting to choose a side until a clear victor had emerged in this attempted coup. Each one saw their grim sea lord seated upon his royal throne, paws and tunic stained with gore as he wordlessly surveyed the nightmarish scene spread out before him. Tratton made sure to meet each rat's mortified gaze with an unflinching one of his own. He never spoke a word to any of them, for no words were necessary to put across the message he meant to convey.

Oppose me, and this is what you may expect.

When the last wide-eyed, slack-jawed witness was led away by Malvarkis and his guards, Tratton rose from his regal chair and strode through the butchery mayhem once more. The stench was overpowering now, forcing him to breathe through his mouth to keep from growing nauseous, and the sticky-cooled blood underpaw felt sickening rather than exhilarating. Even after a thorough cleanup, this chamber would reek for days. Issuing orders for the slaughter in his royal audience chamber to be cleared away at last and for the floors to be swabbed spotless, Tratton tramped his way toward his private apartments, leaving bloody pawprints in his wake. He spared not a care for this further mess; somebeast would be sure to clean up after him.

00000000000

"So, the conquering hero has survived with his rule of terror intact."

Tratton, fresh from a hot bath and a change of his imperial garments, regarded his wife with a liberal helping of jaundice in his green-and-lavender gaze. "Your spies must be good, Regelline, given that you have not set foot outside this suite since this morning. Dare I ask which side you were on in that little uprising we had today?"

"Dare you hope for an honest answer if I was foolish enough to back the losing side?" she shot back.

"Touche. But you were no fool when you agreed to be my queen ... and as long as no embarrassing evidence comes to light linking you to this ill-advised conspiracy, you may continue to hold that title."

"Just how did you do it, anyway? Slay a roomful of armed challengers who wanted you dead, after sending away all your bodyguards?"

"Don't you mean, our bodyguards?" He stepped over to her and, even though they were alone in their restricted-access apartments, leaned in close to whisper in her ear. "I do have my secrets, my dear - even from you. Let's just say I like to be prepared for every contingency."

"Prepared, huh? Like you were prepared when you took four dreadnoughts to Salamandastron, and lost them all?"

Tratton grimaced, fangs slightly exposed in a half-snarl. "Urthblood used unforeseen tactics on us. How was I to know he had forged an alliance with the seagulls, or taught them how to drop fire from the sky?"

"Perhaps if your spies were as good as mine ... "

Tratton wanted to snap back at her, but the galling truth was that Regelline was right. He should have known about the Urthblood-seagull alliance before he'd directly assaulted Salamandastron. He'd been so busy spying on his own rats - and so confident in the ability of the stormpowder to bring the Badger Lord to his knees - that he'd never imagined he could fail in either arena. Of course, if he'd not attacked Urthblood head-on, he would still have had to find some other way to confront his badger foe; after the losses of the first two dreadnoughts and the lumber compound, inaction on his part would have guaranteed an insurrection as surely as his terrible miscalculation in battle. At least his investment in spies among his own kind had paid off. He was alive, and those who thought to replace him were not.

"You are not made of steel, however much you might like to pretend or believe you are," Regelline pressed on. "You are still vulnerable. No Searat King has ever lost as much in his entire reign as you have in just the past season."

"That is only because I had more to lose in the first place. The dreadnoughts, the ironclads and submersibles, the mainland and island compounds, the stormpowder, our ports and shipyards and workshops, this fortress - all mine! None of it would exist without my vision and leadership!"

"Your vision and leadership are now very much in question, after the disaster you brought down upon us."

"I still rule the seas, and Terramort. My two remaining dreadnoughts alone are a greater naval force than most historical searat fleets in their entirety. Then there are the galleons and frigates, the ironclads, and our land-based forces ... and after today, none will dare challenge me for the throne!"

"They may not voice their doubts or designs aloud, my dear husband, but it would be a mistake to assume their dissent has been entirely dispelled. Perhaps a fatal one."

"And what would you have me do about it, my sweet scorpion? Purge the remaining officers, and appoint an entirely new command staff, right down to every captain, boson and third mate?"

"They followed you because you promised them greatness!" Regelline exhorted. "The terror you wielded was always necessary to keep any would-be usurpers in line, but most would have followed you anyway! There is only one way for you to survive this setback in the long term, and that is to show them greatness once more! You must present them with a victory so staggering that it will blind them to the debacle of Salamandastron, dazzle them with a light of triumph that will banish all memories of defeat from their minds! Then none would dare oppose you, not even if you rule for another ten seasons, and another ten after that!"

"Oh? And what shall this victory be?"

"That's for you to decide," she said as she stalked toward her private rooms. "You're the King, after all. You can't expect me to do all your thinking for you!"

00000000000

Clucus the engineer ferret stepped hesitantly into Tratton's throne room, gently but insistently urged forward by the two palace guards who'd escorted him here. By now, word of the massacre which had taken place in this chamber two days earlier had penetrated even down to the workshop caves where Clucus toiled, and some of the rumors were quite preposterous.

"Th' King, 'ee slew 'em all single-pawed!"

"Aye, 'tis true! Sent all 'is guards away, an' faced them rebels all by 'imself, alone!"

"I heard he hypnotized 'em, so that they'd stand stock still while he hacked 'em t' bits! 'Ee c'n do that, y' know - it's them green 'n' purple eyes o' his!"

"Oh? Well, I 'eard 'ee c'n move so fast that 'ee just lit inta 'em like furred lightnin', an' had 'em all slain 'fore any o' their blades could touch 'im!"

"Well, all I knows is not a one o' them traitors made it outta there alive!"

"'cept fer Frocco. He got off lucky, losin' just his paw an' his tongue. Too bad he can't tell us what really happened up there ... "

"Poor Frocks! Th' horror still ain't left 'is face! Dunno if 'ee could speak on what 'ee saw, even if'n 'ee did still 'ave 'is tongue!"

"Poor Frocks is right. Don't be surprised if'n we're usin' that rat fer target practice 'fore th' season's out. Not much use fer a mute, one-pawed turncoat in King Tratton's service ... "

And thus was the living legend of the sea lord perpetuated. Clucus knew better, of course - mainly since he was the one who'd designed and rigged the throne room death trap for Tratton in the first place. Clucus's unique mechanical genius was not confined to the building of ships alone. And when the blond ferret had heard about the slaughter, he knew exactly what had happened.

He had not, however, known what to expect upon entering the scene of such gruesome bloodshed. Clucus should have guessed that Tratton's palace attendants, efficient as usual, would have the gory mess cleared away in good time so that the royal audience chamber would be usable again. His nose wrinkled in a trepidatious sniff, but he was not hit by any overpowering stench of death or decay, just the faint tangy whiff of spilled blood mingled with an underlying essence of exposed gut and bowel. Clucus was impressed that this would be the only trace evidence a mere two days after what must have been a nightmarish scene of carnage in this windowless room.

Clucus felt an inexplicable relief that Tratton stood waiting to receive him in the middle of the floor, halfway between his throne dais and the doorway. The ferret knew the trap here could not have been reset without his help, and probably not even with it, since the boulder counterweight was now toppled from its fulcrum into a useless and irretrievable position. The sprung steel razor wires must have been cut away, since there would have been no other way to get rid of them and Tratton wouldn't want to risk accidental contact with the nearly invisible filaments. Of course, if the trained swordsbeast before him wanted Clucus dead, he wouldn't need any hidden trap to accomplish that goal; the ferret engineer wouldn't stand a chance against Tratton in any fair fight. Not that Tratton fought fair ...

"I trust, um, that my arrangements here, uh, worked to yer satisfaction, Lord?"

"They did their job splendidly," Tratton replied with barely a trace of a smile; Clucus read at once that the Searat King was in a businesslike mood. "You are to be commended for your ingenuity."

"T'was yer idea, majesty - I just figgered out th' mechanics of makin' it go, as t'were. Um, didja hafta use any of the other, ah, surprises I installed fer you?"

"Now you're prying, my friend."

"Oh, um ... sorry, M'Lord. Ferget I asked ... "

"I will. Now, I trust you have heard by now what happened at Salamandastron?"

"Beasts are talkin', Yer Highness. But down there, y' can never know what t' credit as true an' what ain't ... "

"Urthblood is using birds in his military now," Tratton stated. "We've long known he was using them for reconnaissance and message-bearing, just a few of them, but now he has hordes of savage gulls trained to rain fire down upon my ships. This alliance was unanticipated."

"So, it is true that all four dreadnoughts were lost?" Clucus asked timidly, fearing the rat King's reaction.

"Such a thing must never be allowed to happen again," Tratton replied, indirectly answering the dread question. "I have two dreadnoughts left to me, with a third nearing completion in the shipyards. But there is no reason to believe our smaller frigates and galleons would not be equally vulnerable to these new tactics of Urthblood's. For this reason, I must now issue orders that all ships in our fleet stay well away from Salamandastron, as much as it galls me to do so. By all rights, my will should be law right up to the coastline, and even past it in some places. But now, there are sea lanes I dare not use for fear of what Urthblood might unleash upon my vessels. He has taken away part of my territory, told me where I may and may not venture in my own maritime realm!"

Tratton took a deep breath to calm himself. "But even if I keep all my forces far from Salamandastron, will that be enough? How far out to sea will Urthblood dispatch his fire-dropping gulls to attack me? Will he build boats of his own, a woodlander navy to challenge me at sea? Will he seek to storm the very gates of Terramort itself? I would not put it past him ... "

"Majesty! Surely the badger's power has not grown so great?"

"This is Urthblood we are talking about. The question facing us now is, what can we do to ensure that such a thing never happens?"

"Um ... er ... I'll hafta give th' matter some thought, M'Lord ... "

"I have already done some of your thinking for you, my friend. I will tell you what I need, and you will tell me whether you can provide it for me ... just like you did for my little surprise that I shared with the traitors in here two days ago."

Clucus nodded. This was often how their professional relationship worked: Tratton would approach him with a rough idea of what he wanted done and how, and leave it to the ferret to work out all the details and make his concept a reality. This method had always produced results before.

"My newer steel ships would not be vulnerable to this form of attack as my wooden vessels are," Tratton began. "However, until my stockpiles of metal ores are increased dramatically, I will not be able to withdraw my dreadnoughts and galleons and frigates from active service. Let us therefore work with what we have. It appears Urthblood is intent upon setting afire every ship of mine that comes within his range, from the sails down. Is there any way of treating canvas so that it can be made fireproof, or at least more resistant to flame, without losing so much of its pliancy that it cannot still be used for sails?"

Clucus stroked his chin. An interesting challenge - his favorite kind. "I'll hafta do some experimentin', Sire."

"You'll be provided with whatever you need. And I want you to look into fireproofing wood as well. All the gulls between here and Hellsgates won't do Urthblood any good if our ships won't burn for him!"

"Excellent ideas, Majesty!"

"In the meantime, the stormpowder remains our most potent weapon. I saw with my own eyes what happens when flames reach the main powder magazines aboard the dreadnoughts. Do you think it would be possible to isolate the magazines from the rest of the ships' structures with steel firedoors and firewalls, without jeopardizing the vessels' seaworthiness by overloading them with too much weight?"

"It should be, M'Lord. Again, I'll hafta run some calculations, mebbe make some models ... "

"You do that. Ideally, I would like to retrofit every galleon and frigate in the fleet so that each can carry a secure stock of stormpowder in her armories, along with at least one catapult apiece. The more independent captains might balk at being made to carry the explosive, but then I've already taken care of the worst of that rabble, haven't I? At least all of those who would have opposed me openly ... and it was time I shortened their leashes anyway. Some of these old-time corsair captains barely tolerated me as their King, going their own way more often than not. Well, no more! From this day forward, every searat ship is under the commission of Terramort, and every crewrat aboard them is a soldier of my royal navy! And any captain who doesn't like it can face execution for treason!"

Clucus merely nodded; these matters lay outside his area of expertise.

"I was also wondering whether there might be some way to utilize the explosive capability of the stormpowder to greater effect. Right now we're just lobbing lit casks of the stuff the same way we would ordinary rocks. A beast with good speed and eyesight would have a decent chance at dodging them. Perhaps a more direct means of delivery, like an oversized slingshot or mounted on a giant crossbow ... "

"I dunno. Range wouldn't be as great as with a catapult ... "

"Well, it's something for you to consider. Now, as to the matter of communication. It occurred to me during my long voyage back to Terramort that this is an area in which Urthblood commands an overwhelming advantage. When he attacked our timber mill and sank two of our dreadnoughts last season, I didn't even know about it until the survivors who escaped on the Butcher Buoy were able to make their way back here and report to me directly. And if I hadn't sailed with my assault force to Salamandastron aboard the _Wedge_, I might still be wondering what had happened there. Urthblood, by contrast, is never more than a day away from knowing what is going on in any part of his domain. Even before his alliance with the gulls, that badger had birds working for him that could traverse all of Mossflower in a single day, or cover the distance from the Northlands to Southsward in the time between a single sunrise and sunset. In terms of real distance, my empire with all its islands and mainland encampments covers a far vaster area than Urthblood's ever will - and yet I am, for all of my spies, virtually deaf and blind as to what is going on in it at any given moment! Indeed, how can I be certain as I stand here talking to you now that my marble quarries on Karnavat have not fallen to a slave rebellion, or that my captains on Sampetra have not broken from my empire, or that Urthblood is not burning my crop tracts on Talaga, my fishing ports on Desta, or my mining camps on Baro? How do I know my lumber mill above Southsward has not been overrun by woodlanders, or the one on the shores of the eastern sea wiped out by Gawtrybe? This situation is clearly untenable under present circumstances, and I can ignore it no longer."

Clucus was at a loss now; as far as he could tell, this was not a matter that had anything to do with him. "You gonna try 'n' get some bird spies of yer own, M'Lord?"

"If I can keep my numbskulled crews from eating every one they see, then perhaps, in time. But time is not a luxury I have in abundance at the moment. Can you design me a fleet of small, swift messenger craft that can skim across the waves like the wind itself, and cover the distances between my outposts in a fraction of the time that any of my present vessels could?"

"Um, what size crew?"

"I don't care if it's three or thirty or three hundred - whatever will go fastest. Speed is all I care about."

"Ah. I'll hafta play 'round with some diff'rent design's, o' course, but I'm sure I can come up with sumpthin' ... "

"If you can't, then nobeast can. I can tell you are eager to get to work on these various assignments, but there is one thing more. The _Wedge_ served me well at Salamandastron. I will need more such ships. In time, I may wish to make them the main component of my fleet. My question is, how large could you build such a vessel - a wooden ship braced and shielded with steel, or something like our defender submersibles, cast entirely from steel? Could you build a warship as big as, say, a dreadnought?"

The ferret's eyes went wide. "A dreadnought? Majesty, there ain't that much steel in all th' world!"

"You let me worry about getting you the steel you need. Just concentrate on the tasks I have set for you. I have the utmost confidence in your ability, Clucus."

The engineer stumbled from the throne room, head fairly swimming. His King certainly had given him much to consider.

00000000000

For all that he'd assigned Clucus, for all the grand ambitions that those individual endeavors might collectively accumulate to in time, Tratton realized that none of these projects would deliver him any kind of quick and overwhelming victory. As much as he hated to admit it, Regelline was right about that, if nothing else. With the massacre of the traitors, he had reasserted his grip of terror over his subjects, but that alone would not sustain his rule indefinitely. He needed some triumph he could show his soldiers and officers. Or, at the very least, he needed to make them_ think_ such a triumph was imminent.

It went without saying that both dreadnoughts and nearly all of his frigates and galleons were currently in port at Terramort. Of course the rebels had waited to move against him until they were assured of having the majority of his fleet's surviving officers on their side. Between the commanders who had been lost in the various clashes with Urthblood and now this latest purge, it was a time for many promotions. His remaining ships still needed captains and lieutenants and first mates, and Tratton's army of spies told him which rats among the lower ranks were most ideal for this honor.

Now, the promotions having been made, Tratton took the next step, convening a strategy meeting of all his captains, old and new alike. Such councils were normally held once or twice a season anyway, but in light of recent events, this would be the first time many of them would be attending such a session.

The long and sterile conference room of Terramort, dominated by an equally long table of the same white marble, was built into the east face of the terraced fortress palace. On sunny mornings such as this, the wide windows admitted enough light to illuminate the austerely magnificent chamber to an almost blinding brilliance. Rather than take a place at one end of the table, Tratton traditionally seated himself with his back to the window at the midpoint of one long side. This allowed him to look across into the well-lit faces of his subordinates and read them for any signs of betrayal. Those commanders he knew to be loyal were seated on his side of the table - not that that stopped Tratton from positioning two of his most trustworthy bodyguards at either paw, just in case.

When the meeting commenced, Tratton spoke not a word about what had happened in the throne room. Nearly every rat present had beheld the aftermath of that incident, and if they hadn't a clue as to how the Searat King had prevailed against such overwhelming odds, well, that was all the better as far as Tratton was concerned. Let that be the unspoken shibbolith in the room, the dread mystery hanging over this assembly and weighing upon every mind, sowing doubts and uncertainties among any who might contemplate traitorous thoughts.

"As you all know," Tratton began, "the badger Urthblood has declared war on our great empire, not through formal pronouncement but by sneak attack. This treachery will not stand. Urthblood is strong, and crafty, that cannot be denied - but he is not powerful enough to bring down the kingdom of the searats! The setbacks we suffered as a result of his latest trap made some in my ranks doubt my leadership. Now that those doubts - and the doubters - have been removed, it is time for those of us who have weathered this storm of disloyalty to move forward with renewed confidence in our purpose, to recommit ourselves to our goals."

He had their complete attention. Had they expected him to crawl meekly out of his isolation to admit defeat? Did they believe Urthblood had dealt them a fatal blow? Whether out of fear or defeatism, none made any attempt to add their voice to the proceedings ... which suited Tratton just fine, since he planned to do all the talking here.

"Urthblood is using birds as a weapon now, rendering all of our traditional wood craft vulnerable - even the dreadnoughts. This makes him invulnerable to us. We will not be able to take Salamandastron away from him with our present naval forces, and it will be some time before we will be equipped to challenge him directly again. For now, we must concentrate on how we will deal with these new circumstances until our navy can be overhauled and modernized to meet this new reality.

"Only one ship of mine survived the battle at Salamandastron - the _Wedge_. An ironclad. This leads me to believe, as I have suspected all along, that this type of vessel is beyond Urthblood's capacity to destroy, even with his fire-dropping seagulls. We must build more such ships if we are to retain our supremacy at sea. More, and bigger. Indeed, I have already issued orders that the dreadnought nearing completion in our shipyards now will be the last of its kind. Henceforth, all our shipbuilding energies will be directed toward craft that can neither burn nor be holed by otters. With a fleet of such ships at our command, and the stormpowder as our fearsome weapon of obliteration, even Urthblood will in time be brought down before our might!"

No other rat present dared say a word against this strategy or question its wisdom, not after the exuberance with which Tratton had outlined his vision for the future. But neither did they applaud or shout out in support of their emperor's plans. Uncertainty lay plain on every face ... except for the various bodyguards in the room, whose stony expressions of attention remained forever unreadable.

"Obviously, it will take seasons for such a goal to become a reality. In the meantime, we must cope with the situation as best we can. Which is why I already have Clucus looking into ways of fireproofing wood and canvas so that our current fleet will be less susceptible to this kind of attack. We will still have to stay well clear of Salamandastron, but until Urthblood makes it clear just how far out to sea he will send his gulls in pursuit of us, this will be a wise precaution to take. Clucus is also going to experiment with new methods of delivering the stormpowder, and I am hereby ordering every ship of the fleet refitted to carry at least one catapult, and a stock of stormpowder stored in a special steel-lined hold that will make it less vulnerable to attack using fire. Urthblood has seen the stormpowder in use; now let us reveal the full power of our ultimate weapon to everybeast who might oppose us, wherever we sail or put ashore!"

Tratton looked to his trusted spymaster Uroza, who was responsible not only for rooting out and quelling dissent within Tratton's own ranks but also for gathering intelligence from regions not under searat control. Along with the captain of Tratton's personal guard Malvarkis, Uroza was one of the few rats the Searat King felt he could count on without reservation.

"Clucus is also designing a fleet of small, fast messenger boats we can use to improve communications between our ships, islands and mainland colonies. We must be able to know what is happening in the far reaches of our realm without the unacceptable delays of up to a season that we have now. Uroza, I will be placing this messenger fleet under your direct command. Crew and staff them with your own paw-picked rats, ones who will know that their reports and observations are more important than staging raids or going after spoils."

"Aye, Majesty. I might need t' recruit some new members, dependin' on how many o' these liddle boats ye're gonna have built."

"There is no doubt you will," Tratton said to the dark spyrat, "because I am assigning you another task as well. I want you to dispatch teams of your scoutrats to the mainland, to be landed north and south of Salamandastron or up the rivers so that they can infiltrate far into Mossflower, Southsward and the Northlands. You may have the use of one or two of our submersibles if it can be arranged. It may take a season or two, but I want to know everything that is happening behind the coastlands - where the main concentrations of creatures are, what are their strengths and weaknesses, spots that might be advantageous for us to strike or to establish strongholds of our own."

Tratton swept his gaze slowly up and down the line of his captains' faces. "Urthblood has made it abundantly clear that we cannot assail him at the seat of his power. So be it. Then we will simply go around Salamandastron, and strike at Mossflower directly!"


End file.
